Not a second time
by espiyo
Summary: Post S10, and following the inquiry Harry has been fired from the service. Kudos / The BBC own all.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, here's another short one. I did have a plot in mind but things seem to be going slightly askew already. Usual disclaimers apply. Hope you enjoy...although given the first para I'm not counting on that one!**

* * *

From: _Harry Pearce_  
To: _Beth Bailey; Ruth Evershed; Dimitri Levendis; Tariq Masood; Alec White_  
Subject: _Date for your diary_

Dear all

Hope this finds you well and working hard so that I can sleep soundly under my bed at night.

I'm sure you all know that shortly after I left the service I began seeing Sally Chapman. Much to my surprise and delight the poor woman has now agreed to marry me, and we have set a date of 24 June for the nuptials. Formal invitations will be sent out nearer the time, but I do hope you will all be able to attend.

Best,

Harry

As each in turn read the email, they glanced across at Ruth. Her gaze remained fixed on her monitor, her face impassive.

* * *

Having spent most of the afternoon trying to pluck up the courage to speak to her, Beth finally followed Ruth into the kitchen.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be?'

Beth hesitated. 'I think given that he knows how you feel about him, that was a rather cruel way of letting you know he's getting married.'

Ruth ducked to retrieve her milk from the fridge. 'Whatever I felt for Harry Pearce died a long time ago. Do you want a tea?'

'No thanks. And sorry, but that's bull. I was with you the night the inquiry finished when he blanked you, and I've watched you being awful to Alec these past few months, just because he's not Harry.'

Busying herself with her tea-making ritual, Ruth didn't respond.

Beth sighed. 'Look, if you want to talk, you know where I am,' and she turned and went back to her station. She didn't see that the hand pouring milk into the teacup was shaking.

* * *

'Penny for them?' With her fingertips Sally was tracing whorls on Harry's bare chest.

He tilted his head towards hers, nestled at his shoulder.

'Oh, just thinking how your life can change beyond all recognition in the space of a few months. This time last year I was dealing with the fallout of one of my team emptying an entire cartridge into a hitman and another going rogue; now I'm spending my days in bed giving you multiple orgasms.'

Sally laughed. 'Days? You should be so lucky! You do know that I took today off to shop for a wedding outfit?'

'Mmmm. I wouldn't bother though. I prefer you naked.'

Her hand snaked under the duvet. 'Mm, so I see. Would you not be a bit pissed off if I got arrested for public indecency before the wedding night?'

He gasped as, cupping him, she gently squeezed. 'I didn't think women could get arrested for that. But never mind public indecency, I think it's time for some of the more private sort.'

* * *

**Two weeks later**

The funeral was rather better attended than the last one she'd been to, with pews filled with staff from both Five and GCHQ. Seated with Malcolm near the back of the church, Ruth scanned the rows for a familiar head, castigating herself for being disappointed that he wasn't there. As they waited for the service to begin, she glanced back down the aisle only to see Harry appear in the doorway. Their eyes met. She saw him freeze and gave him a quick, small smile then turned back to face the front. A few seconds later she sensed him slide into the pew beside them.

'Hello Ruth, Malcolm,' he whispered.

'Harry! Good to see you!' Malcolm beamed.

The voice resonating from the pulpit obviated Ruth saying anything at all.

* * *

As they walked back to their cars to head for the wake Ruth had somehow attached herself to a group from GCHQ. Turning his collar up against the bitter wind, Harry watched her, his face troubled.

'It was a pretty lousy thing to do, you know,' commented Malcolm.

'Hmm?'

'Telling her you are getting married in a round robin email.'

Harry frowned. 'She made it abundantly clear how she felt about me. I doubt if she gives a damn about the fact I'm getting married or about the means by which I announced it.' He realised Malcolm had stopped walking.

'What?' Malcolm was looking at him in utter incredulity.

'Do you really believe that? For god's sake Harry, look at the woman. She's skin and bone. At the risk of sounding Victorian, if that's not pining away for you I don't know what is.'

Harry, who'd been stunned at the gaunt, pale, almost ethereal face that had greeted him in the church, scoffed. 'Whatever ails her, if anything does, I promise you it's not me.'

'Don't you think it's odd that she's off hobnobbing with the mathematicians?'

'No. She doesn't want anything to do with me, I told you.' He jabbed at his keyfob. 'Want a lift?'

Malcolm shook his head. 'My car's just around the corner. Are you coming to the wake?'

Harry hesitated.

'The two of you need to sort things out. Please, Harry. For my sake if nothing else. I hate seeing two dear old friends at daggers drawn.'

'We're not...' Harry's shoulders slumped. He was mindful too of what had happened at the last funeral he and Ruth had been to. Had that been the beginning of the end? 'I'm not sure that Sam's funeral is the best place for us to thrash out our differences.'

'No need to thrash. You're grownups, for crying out loud.' He glanced over at Ruth, deep in conversation at the cemetery gates. 'And you can start by giving her a lift. I've just remembered some urgent business I need to attend to.' He winked and strode off round the corner, leaving a woebegone Harry staring after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the reviews!**

* * *

As the cluster broke up and Ruth headed back to Malcolm's car, Harry leaned across and pushed the passenger door open.

Without breaking her stride Ruth indicated further along the road. 'It's okay, thanks, Malcolm's brought his car.'

'Something's come up, he had to shoot off. I'll give you a lift.'

She hesitated, and glanced back at the dispersing mourners.

'Oh for god's sake Ruth, I don't bite. Get in.'

She stared at him, her face expressionless, then did as he bid. Belting herself in she kept her eyes on the road as he eased out into the traffic. The narrow street was threaded with cars and mourners and progress was slow. When they finally pulled onto the main road Harry glanced across at her.

'So, how are you?'

'Fine, I'm fine.'

'How's life on the Grid?'

'Fine.' She shrugged. 'Same old, same old.'

He took in her rigid posture, the knuckles clamped on the bag in her lap, the set of her jaw.

'Good, good.' Dismay jostled with irritation and perplexity. He decided silence was probably the best option.

Ruth, in turn, was trying to divert her thoughts to anything other than her current circumstances, yet her senses betrayed her, nudging little awarenesses into her consciousness. The proximity of his thighs. His hands resting on the steering wheel. The tantalising scent of his aftershave. The soft tangle of curls trailing from above his ears to the nape of his neck. She felt the familiar flutter below her abdomen and turned to the side window, hoping he hadn't spotted the flush creeping over her cheeks.

His mobile ringing finally broke the silence. Harry, who had noticed her shift towards the door, almost lunged for the handsfree.

'Harry Pearce.'

Involuntarily, Ruth's head swivelled towards him, and her heart constricted as she saw his face soften.

'Hi sweetheart. What...Uh huh...I'm on my way to the wake. I'll just show face, and then...yes...okay. See you then. Love you... Okay, bye.' Smiling, he cut the connection.

'Sally,' said Ruth.

'Yes,' he replied, still smiling.

'I - I believe congratulations are in order.'

''Thank you.' Harry changed down as they drew up to a queue at traffic lights.

'No need to ask how you two met, at least.'

'Hah! No. Actually it was Alec who engineered it all.'

'Really.'

'Yes. He was worried about me, thought I might be depressed, and asked Sally to pop round on the q.t. She'd known me for a long time so she was happy to oblige. The rest, as they say, is history.' He gave a bashful smile.

'I thought she was married.'

'Widowed. Last year.'

'Last year? She doesn't hang about, does she?'

Harry ignored the barb. 'Her husband had been ill for a long time, so by the time he finally died she'd already done her grieving.'

'So were you?'

'Was I what?'

'Depressed.'

He edged the car forwards. 'Probably,' he admitted. But ultimately I didn't need pills, just...'

'Just the love of a good woman.'

Aware that he was blushing he snapped his head towards her, searching for the sarcasm in her face that was missing from her intonation. The blue eyes that met his were cold, expressionless. 'Well, amongst other things,' he said finally, and returned his attention to the road.

* * *

Not knowing Cheltenham well, Sam's parents had left the venue for the wake up to her boyfriend, and he'd chosen their local pub, a typical high street boozer with nothing to recommend it, as far as Harry could determine, apart from a surprisingly fine selection of real ale. As befitted the funeral of someone barely in their thirties, the atmosphere was subdued, and those who had known Sam well were brittle with grief and guilt. He had hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether he should offer Ruth a drink, whether she'd want to stay in his company, only for her to ease past him and head over to a tall, middle aged man standing on his own at the bar. She'd laid her hand on his arm and he'd looked down, the delight on his face all too clear as recognition dawned. Turning away from the happy reunion, Harry spotted Sam's parents at the far end of the room. Wanting to be on his way before Malcolm returned and began the inevitable interrogation, Harry wound his way through the throng until he found himself standing by their table. They looked up at him, Sam's mother with the pale blue eyes he'd known so well.

'Mr Buxton, Mrs Buxton, I just wanted to pass on my condolences for your loss. I...'

'You're Harry Pearce, aren't you, from DEFRA?'

Harry blinked. 'I...yes indeed.'

The drawn face relaxed into an easy, wide smile. 'Sam talked a lot about you; she thought the world of you, loved working with you. I wish she'd never taken that promotion; she was never the same after...' the woman swallowed, and her eyes dropped to her hands, clasped on her lap.

'H-how did you know who I was?'

'She had a photie o' you on 'er fridge,' her husband broke in. Seeing the startled expression on Harry's face he added, 'Well, no' just you, some ae her colleagues tae. A work night oot efter some team buildin' exercise, I think it wis.'

'Good god. Yes, I remember it.' Despite himself, Harry smiled. Drinks at the George after the EERIE exercise. Danny had taken a photo of him, seated between Ruth and Sam. Having drunk way too much on an empty stomach, he had draped his arms round both women's shoulders. Ruth, not trying to keep up with the more hardened drinkers around her, had still been relatively sober, and her smile to camera had been somewhat tentative, bemused. Sam's smile, face alight, eyes sparkling, had been all for Danny.

* * *

Harry downed the last of his pint and regarded the young analyst in front of him. He'd spent the preceding five minutes trying to persuade Harry that a transfer to Five would be all Harry's Christmases and birthdays come at once; oh, and he'd pull off world peace in his first week too.

'I'm afraid that I left Five several months ago under somewhat of a cloud. That you're unaware of that or believe that in such circumstances I would have any influence on recruitment there rather suggests you are far more suited to a career at GCHQ. Excuse me.' Putting his glass down on the bar he scanned the room for Ruth. She was still talking to James Davies, but now a younger woman whom Harry didn't recognise had joined them. He headed over.

'James, long time no see.'

'Harry, my goodness.' Although Davies' smile didn't quite reach his eyes, he proffered his hand and Harry shook it. 'Must be...' he blew out his cheeks. 'Sorry to hear about the inquiry business. How's retirement treating you?'

'Oh, can't complain, can't complain. I just wanted to say,' and he turned to Ruth at his elbow, 'I'm heading back to London now if you'd like a lift.'

She sipped at her wine, not meeting his eyes. 'No thanks, I'll wait for Malcolm.'

'I'm not sure that he's coming back.'

'Well then, I'll get a lift from someone else or get the train. I'm a big girl now, Harry.'

He flinched at the flash of anger in her eyes. 'As you wish.'

* * *

He'd almost reached the car when he heard his name being shouted. He groaned. Almost made it. He turned and leaned back against the door, waiting for Malcolm to trot across the road.

'What are you doing? Where's Ruth?'

'In the pub. I did offer her a lift but she knocked me back.'

'Well, it's not exactly chucking out time. You can only have been in there five minutes. Did you talk?'

'Not really.'

'Harry...'

'She despises me, Malcolm. Can hardly bear to breathe the same air as me.'

'You know that's not true, she...'

Harry turned and opened the door. 'I'd best get off. I'll be in touch about the stag do.'

'Harry, wait!' But Malcolm could only watch as Harry drove off, and with a heavy heart he turned and headed towards the pub and Ruth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the angst overload. I blame the weather... ;) Thanks again for reading and reviewing; this is a short one.  
**

**

* * *

**

**Several months earlier**

'And there is someone at home to keep an eye on you?'

'My partner, yes.'

'Okay, well in that case, Sir Harry, you're free to go, but come back in straightaway if there's any more nausea or vomiting or dizziness.'

'Will do.' The painkillers were already wearing off, and Harry put his jacket back on rather gingerly, trying to move his head as little as he possibly could.

Wearily he walked back out to reception. Alec sat by the door, chatting to the young woman sitting opposite him. By the looks of things he was making quite an impression.

'Alec...'

He looked up. 'Harry! They're letting you go?'

'So it would appear.'

Alec winked at the young woman and walked over to Harry, scanning his face in concern. 'I thought they would've kept you in overnight for observation. You did throw up rather spectacularly, after all.'

'Delayed shock,' Harry snapped, 'nothing to do with concussion.' His fingertips massaged his forehead. 'Is Ruth still here?'

'Ruth? She's not here. She went home.'

Harry grimaced. 'She should've got checked out. She had the best part of a...' Belatedly remembering where he was he let the words die in his throat and his hand dropped to his side. 'Give me a lift home, would you?'

'Your home?'

Harry stared at him. 'Of course my home. Now, can we please go?'

* * *

'Look, I don't think you should be on your own tonight. Can I crash on the sofa or something? I'd rather keep an eye on you, just in case.'

Harry reached for the door handle. 'Thank you for your concern Alec, but that won't be necessary. What you could do however...is be on the Grid at 8am tomorrow. If you fancy a stint as interim section chief, that is.'

'Me? Are you sure? You do know...'

'I'll have a word with Debra Langham in the morning. Dimitri and Beth have only been in the job five minutes, and it will take time to...to replace Lucas. I'd rather have someone I trust in post when the fur starts flying as inevitably it will. Do we have a deal?'

Alec regarded him for a moment. 'Yes, okay.'

Harry nodded, and got out of the car. He waited til Alec had driven off, then let himself in. Once inside, he followed his normal nightly ritual of opening the back door for Scarlet, switching on Mozart's Requiem, and pouring himself a generous measure of Ardbeg. Only this time, when he sat down, his face crumpled.

* * *

It was the cold that woke him. Groaning, he came to, massaging his neck as his malt-befuddled brain tried to make sense of his surroundings. Daybreak was still some way off, and it took a moment for the dark shapes around him to assume a recognisable form. Almost simultaneously he realised that he'd fallen asleep in his armchair and that the draught was coming from the back door. In the late evening the balmy breeze had been pleasant; at 2am it was rather less so.

'Shit,' he yelped, lurching to his feet. 'Scarlet!' From the floor beside his chair came an answering, if not entirely enthusiastic, thump. 'Good girl,' he muttered, relieved, and bent to scratch her head before going to close the door. Ruefully it dawned on him that an opportunistic burglar could have stripped the place and neither of them would have stirred.

Somewhat unsteadily he made his way upstairs and stripped down to his trunks, tossing his bloodied shirt into the wastebin. Shivering from a combination of tiredness and cold he crawled under the duvet, the cool cotton not helping his cause. As he bunched it around him he shut his eyes, expecting sleep to overcome him as quickly as it had a few hours earlier. This time it was not to be. Images of Ruth kept floating into his head; lying on the floor unconscious, attached to the drip; telling him he should have let her die; watching George be killed; rejecting his proposal...all the while her words looped round his brain; it was unfair of you to love me...it was unfair of you to love me...it was unfair of you to love me. With a roar of frustration he flopped onto his back and tried to replace the images with more pleasant ones. The truth was, though, that even they were bittersweet; a reminder of what he had...not thrown away, exactly, more could have had; what his life could have been, had he not... but he wasn't even sure what he had done wrong. Should he have inveigled his way into her house after their date, rather than settling for a chaste peck on the cheek? Should he have steamrollered over her embarrassment at the rest of the team knowing about that night? Should he have made a move at Havensworth, rather than simply standing there like a stuffed shirt? Should he have got on the boat with her, leaving everything of his life behind?

His thoughts were rambling. How Ruth-like, he thought sardonically. The one thing he knew for sure, though, was that he'd lost her. Again. Only this time for good.


	4. Chapter 4

**Glad to see Harry eliciting a smidgen of sympathy in the last chapter! Thank you for all the reviews and sorry for the delay. RL getting in the way rather.**

* * *

**48 hours later**

Harry paused, massaging his fingers while he marshalled his thoughts. Then he began to type.

_Towers phoned to let me know that there's going to be an inquiry. Not just into Albany and the Lucas North / John Bateman affair, but into my whole career. 'The buzzards are circling', he said. I 'should prepare for life outside MI5,' he said_. _None of this was entirely unexpected, but where once I would have been galvanised into preparing a robust defence, my first reaction was 'let them do their worst'. In all my years with the army and then the security service I've seen and heard things that would make most people's blood run cold, but even my thick skin isn't totally impregnable, and the events of this week have rather knocked the stuffing out of me. Lucas's betrayal has been devastating, far more so than Bernard 's or Connie's, and I should have realised something was wrong long before I did. I should certainly have believed Ruth when she first raised her concerns. Did I really learn nothing from the Mik Maudsley affair? _

_Ruth. Although she now knows - as do the rest of the team - that Albany was a fake, she still hasn't spoken to me. There was a flicker of shock at the sight of my forehead yesterday morning, and that is the most I have elicited from her. She won't look me in the eye, she hasn't been near my office, she says the bare minimum in response to any questions I ask of her. I wondered if her ordeal at the hands of Lucas might have affected her more than she's letting on, but then I saw her in the kitchen with Dimitri this afternoon, laughing at one of his stories. Stupid, deluded old fool that I am, I felt a surge of jealousy so intense that I marched in, put my mug in the sink and marched out again without saying a word. I keep telling myself that she has made her feelings all too clear on more than one occasion, and I need to accept this and move on. Yet these words are as inadequate a salve for a broken heart now as they ever were._

_It is likely that when I go to Thames House in the morning I will be refused access. Better that, perhaps, than being frogmarched from the building. No doubt my suspension will be long enough to allow the buzzards time to dig up enough rope to hang me with, although if Albany isn't a smoking gun, to mix my metaphors rather horribly, I have no idea what is. I suspect that dismissal from the service and being stripped of my pension rights is the best I can hope for; that I can cope with. Imprisonment, I'm not so sure. Not anymore. _

_So all I can do now is protect my team; disassociate myself from them as much as I can until my so-called jury passes judgement and I know that Section D is safe. The stronger their ties to me, the greater the justification the JIC has for taking punitive measures against them too. Yet Albany was my decision. Giving up a state secret, albeit one of no tangible worth, for the woman I love was my decision. Hang me out to dry by all means, but leave my team, and Section D, alone._

He hit save, and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh. That Beth and Dimitri hadn't worked with Five for long would definitely make his job easier. Tariq...well...by the nature of their job the desk spooks never had the same level of loyalty to him as the field officers did, and he was no Malcolm, but...

Rolling onto his hip he reached for the mobile phone on the bedside table and hit speed dial. He thought he was about to be bumped to voicemail when all of a sudden, he heard a rather unamused:

'Yeah?'

'Alec, it's Harry.'

The tone instantly changed. 'Harry? What's wrong?'

'There's going to be an inquiry into my whole career, not just Albany. Towers just told me. Anyway, I'm concerned that some of the more vindictive members of the panel may use the team's loyalty to me as justification for disbanding the section. Whatever punishment they mete out to me, that I can't let happen so I need you to...I need you to sow seeds of doubt in the team, Alec. I need you to ensure that a/ they don't try to sway the outcome in any way and b/ they don't try to convince the inquiry that I'm Pa bloody Walton. Do you get my drift?'

'Harry, this is absurd. We can fight this. You can't just let them throw you to the wolves!'

'You know as well as I do that I committed treason, whatever my justifications were and whether Albany was real or not. And now I've got to take whatever...'

'Yes, but we can ensure that it's just a slapped wrist or something, there's no need to do the cheese eating surrender monkey bit and don a fucking hair shirt!'

'What?'

'Don't be such a bloody sap! Okay, so you're probably still in shock after Lucas and pissed off that they're going to throw the book at you but...'

Harry's head lolled back against the headboard. 'Please, Alec, just do this for me. I thought I'd be leaving Five under my own steam and on my own terms but it's not going to happen so I might as well make the process as painless as possible for everyone.'

Harry was beginning to wonder if they'd been cut off, then, 'Okay. Fair enough.'

'And you mustn't let them know what you're doing and why.'

'Obviously. But they'll never believe me.'

'_Make _them believe you, Alec.'

'So what happens now?'

'I just wait to hear. But I'd imagine I'll hear tomorrow that I'm suspended, effective immediately. I'm not overfond of being frogmarched out of my own office, so I won't be in. Let the goons try to find me.'

Alec smiled. 'I'll call you tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll make sure it's a secure line and I'll keep Tariq out of the loop.'

'Thank you. Oh, and Alec?'

'Mm?'

'Keep an eye on Ruth for me.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Apologies in advance for this one. A bit bleak, a bit melodramatic maybe...but things will start looking up for Harry in the next chapter, I promise. :) Thanks for reading and reviewing, and I hope despite the doom and gloom you enjoy this.**

* * *

**Ten weeks later**

He tries not to think about how different it is this time. No DVDs from Zaf. No trips to the dogs with Adam and Wes. No food parcels from Ruth, or late night rendezvous on the bus home.

This time, it is late autumn; grey and cold with a damp that seeps into his bones, and he knows that but for the regular nudges from a small, wet nose he would probably spend his days slumped in his armchair, drinking malt, watching daytime television, and thinking far too much.

This time, he doesn't care about what's happening on the Grid; he doesn't scour the classified ads for coded messages, and when he ventures to the mini mart it is only to buy food for Scarlet, ready meals, and bottles of malt.

While the future of Section D is as yet undecided, the inquiry is over and Harry has joined the ranks of those deemed surplus to requirements; an anachronism; obsolete. Alec has so far held the team together, and held back the predators, helped by the unconsciously primed testimony of Tariq, Beth and Dimitri. Whether Ruth believes the evidence of her own eyes or the words that he has drip fed her over the weeks Alec doesn't know, any more than he knows that she lied for Harry at the inquiry, or her reasons for doing so. It is because of her that he now languishes within the four walls of his home rather than in a prison cell.

It is only Alec that keeps in touch, materialising beside him on park benches and slipping into a chair beside him in his crowded local. Alec alone has nothing to lose, and Alec alone owes him. Harry assumes this is the reason for his frequent, if irregular, appearances; it doesn't cross his mind that the younger man likes him, enjoys his company, and more to the point is becoming worried about Harry's increasing withdrawal from the world.

They never talk about work, although Harry asks after the team; after Ruth in particular. He notes the split second hesitation before Alec replies with a casual 'fine' and changes the subject. Knowing Alec of old, Harry wonders if he has taken his request a step too far and started seeing her, and while all he wants is for Ruth to find the happiness she clearly feels would elude her with him, he is troubled by the knot of jealousy that still tightens inside him at the thought of her with anyone else, let alone an alcoholic womaniser with a precarious lifestyle and a hardened heart.

Alec in turn sees new hollows in Harry's cheeks and eyes that, dulled and bloodshot with exhaustion, will not meet his own. Happy to banter about sport and shared experiences and colleagues of old, as the weeks pass he notices that Harry has less to say.

The morning after a particularly one-sided conversation Alec asks Ruth for a private word. Their workload is heavy; she is expecting further instructions, perhaps to be hauled over the coals about her attitude, even if he can find no fault with her performance. When he tells her he has been meeting Harry her eyes flick down to her hands. After a moment she asks how he is.

'Falling apart.'

She frowns but says nothing.

Hopeful nonetheless Alec's casual enquiry to Harry the following week establishes that his only visitor in the intervening time has been Malcolm. Fretting about his mother's declining health he seems to have been oblivious to the quiet disintegration of one of his oldest friends.

As autumn turns to winter, the light and cheer of Advent is in marked contrast to Harry's mood. He rarely ventures out now, and one sleety December night Alec turns up on the doorstep, only to find that Harry won't come to the door. Scarlet is barking, yet he can hear Mozart's Requiem playing upstairs, and going by the flickering blue light visible through the uncurtained window, the television is on in the living room. With practised ease he picks the lock, and soothes Scarlet, who is torn between doing the dutiful guard dog bit and her delight at seeing someone new, someone who might prove to be a bit more fun than Harry has been of late. Yet as they go through to the living room, the little terrier trots over to the sofa and circles and flumps down beside her master. Alec reaches for the light switch.

Harry is lying on his back on the sofa, his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Alec now knows he is out of his depth, so the quiet, controlled 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' comes as something of a relief.

He holds up a carrier bag. 'Thought you might fancy a curry.'

'You thought wrong.'

'Well, d'you mind if I eat mine? It'll be stone cold by the time I get home.'

Harry doesn't have the energy to argue. 'Suit yourself,' he mutters. 'I doubt if I have much say in the matter.'

Alec finds the kitchen, and after much crashing and banging reappears in the living room with two plates, piled high, on a tray. He settles down into an armchair and begins to eat. 'Don't suppose you have any beer?' he asks, through a mouthful of phaal.

'Fridge.'

He gets up and turns to lay his tray on the chair, but out of the corner of his eye he sees a hairy ear twitch. 'Trust me, Scarlet, you'll regret it,' he informs her, but places it on the top of the piano instead, confident that however bouncy she is, she can't quite bounce _that _high. Nonetheless, he doesn't hang about in the kitchen, and sure enough when he returns to the living room Scarlet is perched on the arm of his chair, weighing up a leap. At his 'Oi!' she scatters back to her place in front of the sofa.

Alec puts one of the bottles of Grolsch on the end table behind Harry's head, and as he does so a thought occurs to him.

'Has she been fed? Scarlet?'

Harry pushes up his tshirt and scratches at his midriff. 'Ummm...'

'Oh for fuck's sake, Harry!'

As Alec stomps back through to the kitchen, a hopeful Scarlet at his heels, Harry tries to piece together the disparate strands of his thoughts. Surely he fed her. He must've fed her. She'd have been telling him all about it if he hadn't...wouldn't she? But no sooner do these thoughts occur to him than they drift away again.

Rooting through Harry's kitchen for the second time that evening, Alec is reassured to find trays of NatureDiet, and one on the counter top, half empty, looks and smells fresh. Not wanting to take any chances, he spoons the remainder into Scarlet's bowl as she pirouettes in delight. Her water bowl refilled, he returns to his rapidly cooling curry.

As he eats, he keeps a running commentary going, on football, rugby, life on the Grid, hoping that something will provoke a reaction from Harry. Finally, he takes a gamble.

'I could do with a bit of advice about Ruth.'

He is sure the steady rhythm of Harry's breathing falters for a moment. Encouraged, he carries on.

'She's bloody good at her job, don't get me wrong, but that woman is hard work.'

Harry gives a grunt, a snort, a wry chuckle; Alec's not sure which. 'Okay, so she hates my guts, fair dos, I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but she doesn't need to make it so bloody _obvious_. It's completely unprofessional, for one thing.'

'It's probably a self-defence mechanism. She's lost too many colleagues that she was very fond of; Adam especially. She probably doesn't want to get too attached to you as sooner or later she's likely to be attending your funeral too.'

'Oh, thanks for that.'

Alec is gratified to see the ghost of a smile cross Harry's face. 'Well, it's not doing my ego much good, so any tips on how I might get her to...tone down the animosity a little?'

'Trust me, I'm the last person to ask how best to handle Ruth. You're her boss, you're a grownup, and women are hardly an alien species to you. You work it out.'

Alec swallows the last mouthful of naan. 'Last person, why?' he asks casually.

For the first time Harry turns his head towards him. 'Don't push it,' he warns.

Alec looks like he's about to do just that, then he hesitates and indicates the unopened bottle of Grolsch. 'You going to drink that?'

Wordlessly Harry reaches beyond his head and in one swift movement his fingers close around the neck of the bottle and he lobs it across the room. Alec catches it one handed and grins. 'Razor sharp reflexes, that's me.' But Harry has subsided into his own world once more.

Loath to leave, when the beer stock is depleted Alec raids the wine rack, ostensibly for a bottle to accompany the 9pm film. He deliberately chooses a 50 year old Montrachet and downs it like lemonade. Harry doesn't even raise an eyebrow. This, for Alec, is the tipping point.

The next morning, back on the Grid, he phones Sally Chapman.


	6. Chapter 6

**Totally wimped out of giving this chapter the obvious title. Well, it wouldn't really have been true, anyway... Hope this one makes for slightly more enjoyable reading than the last, and apologies for the delay in updating.**

**

* * *

**  
Compared to the prospect of going home alone to write a pile of Christmas cards, many of which would have to give belated notification of her husband's death, visiting a depressed Harry Pearce seemed like a fun way to spend an afternoon. However, the house was in darkness, and no frantic barking greeted her knock. Early December not exactly being conducive to sitting on someone's doorstep, Sally returned to her car and waited.

Although she'd never met her before, it was Scarlet she recognised, materialising in her wing mirror as she inspected a rather overgrown privet hedge with forensic thoroughness. With Harry, she was used to understated but expensive suits and shirts, handmade shoes buffed to a military shine, and - sometimes the job had its perks - tight-fitting trunks that made a pleasant change from the usual bureaucratic boxers, so it took a moment for it to register that the mufti-clad figure waiting patiently at the end of the lead was one and the same. With her medical professional's hat on, she noticed with satisfaction that the beer belly of recent years was gone and his jawline was visible once more. With her colleague of over twenty years' hat on, she took in the gaunt cheeks, shaded with stubble; the absence of the usual confident, almost cocky, body language; the unruly mop of hair. 'Jesus Christ, Harry,' she muttered, 'I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this.' She climbed back out of the car and stood on the pavement as man and dog approached. They were almost upon her when Harry looked up. It took him a moment to place her - well, he'd hardly been one of her revolving door patients - and as recognition dawned his step faltered.

'Hello, Harry.'

'Sally? What...' He chewed at his lower lip. 'Alec sent you, didn't he?'

'Alec is worried about you. But I came of my own volition.'

He frowned. 'I'm fine.'

'Great. Then you won't mind inviting an old colleague in for a cup of tea.' Scarlet was looking up at her with interest, and she bent to scratch behind the dog's ear.

'Some other time, perhaps.' He gave a stiff little smile and went to move off, but Sally stepped in front of him, and he looked down in some surprise at the hand resting against his chest.

'Sorry.' She let her arm her consternation she realised she was blushing, but she ploughed on. 'I'm here as a friend, not to give you a hard time about...well...getting more exercise and losing some weight.' She gave a wry smile, and was rewarded by the corners of his mouth twitching.

'If I told you it was five mile walks with Scarlet every day would you believe me?'

One eyebrow slowly lifted. 'Harry, you could seldom be bothered to walk the two floors to my office.'

'Trust me, that was nothing to do with distance and everything to do with an unwelcome reminder of how my life and my body had fallen apart.'

'Don't be so melodramatic. And don't fish for compliments. Now come on. A girl could die of thirst out here.'

* * *

Sally Chapman had the confidence born of an expensive education, doting but quietly ambitious parents, and - until her husband became ill - a relatively easy passage through life. The latter had been largely facilitated by her understated beauty, of which she was entirely unaware, and an early and very happy marriage. Harry was far from the only man in Thames House who'd once thought that Gavin Chapman was a very lucky man, and her easing out of her coat, shoulders back, chest forward, sent a jolt to his groin.

He realised she was looking at him quizzically.

'Oh! Sorry, go on through. I'll put the kettle on. Or would you like something stronger?'

'Tea would be lovely, thank you. Black, no sugar.'

When he came through with the mugs of tea, Sally was seated on the sofa, Scarlet lying with her head on her lap.

'Wow, the Scarlet seal of approval already. When can you move in?'

Sally laughed. 'Ah, but does she know my policy on biscuits?'

'Banned?'

'No, I eat every last crumb.'

Harry sucked his teeth. 'Could be a deal breaker. Here you go.'

He handed her a mug, and eased himself into the armchair beside her.

'Knee still giving you gyp?'

'Mm, sometimes. Always worse in the cold and damp.'

'Now that you're shot of Section D you could always spend the winters somewhere warm. Spain.' She caught the look on his face and smiled. 'Okay, maybe not. How are you sleeping?'

'Sally...'

'I'm asking as a friend. You look like you haven't slept for a month.'

'Gee, thanks.' Thumb and forefinger rubbed his eyes. 'Not very well.'

'Not surprising, really. You've been through the mill rather, what with one thing and another.'

Harry cupped his mug to his chin and said nothing.

'I know there's little point in my saying this, but I think you should talk to someone.' Those amber eyes stared ahead, unseeing. 'I'm happy to listen whenever and I'm sure Diana Jewell would say the same. Just don't be too hard on yourself, Harry. Few could cope with what you've had to over such a long period of time and emerge from it all unscathed.'

He frowned. 'What are you trying to say, Sally?'

'I'm saying that you're obviously in a bad place right now but there are people who care about you and want to help and you should let them.'

'In a bad place? You've not been moonlighting as the cousins' quack, have you?' He pushed himself to his feet and went over to the window.

'Call it what you will, but the image before me isn't of a contented man enjoying his well-earned retirement.'

Harry snorted. 'Okay, well, I don't mean to be rude, but you've said your piece, so can you go now, please?'

'Harry...'

'Just go.'

Sally stood up and moved behind him, after a moment's hesitation placing her hand between his shoulder blades. She felt the barely perceptible flinch. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak out of turn.'

His head had drooped to his chest, and the hands jammed into his armpits had clenched into fists. He was aware that his heart was hammering, his breathing fast and shallow. Not the best way to persuade a doctor to bugger off and leave him alone. Sally's long fingers were now gently massaging his back. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember the last time someone had touched him. Properly touched him. Not just a fleeting squeeze of his arm. Catherine probably, way back when. He gave something between a groan and a sob. Sally was talking to him, turning him round to face her, her eyes clouded with concern. He shook his head, 'no, no', then he felt her arms around him, and he clung to her as if his life depended on it.

And finally the tears began to fall.

* * *

**Sorry, the next one will be more cheerful, promise! Thanks for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Did I say this one would be more cheerful? Hmmm. Bit of a change of tack so not quite the chapter I'd intended. Thanks for all the lovely reviews; I'm not sure I deserve them!**

* * *

**The next day**

Alec tipped his chair backwards and rocked on the back legs. 'So we have nothing at all? Belfast have nothing, Six have nothing, and other than the chatter the Krispys have nothing?'

Silence.

He scanned the weary faces round the table.

'No contacts? No assets?'

'I think we might just have mentioned it if we had,' Ruth snapped.

Alec eyed her, lips pursed. 'Indeed. Of course we do have one contact that we're overlooking. Harry.'

Three pairs of eyes swivelled towards him. Ruth's remained resolutely trained on the folders in front of her. From where he sat he could see the muscle in her jaw pulsing.

'Ruth, I want you to go and see him. Strictly on the qt, of course.'

Her voice was eerily calm. 'I really don't think that's appropriate. And given that Five hung him out to dry, why would he want to help us?'

'Because he's Harry. Because he could never let anyone do this, especially not any of the Irish lot. And it's entirely appropriate. He knows you. He trusts you.'

Now she turned to him, eyes blazing. 'Oh, you think? He hates my guts, Alec. Send Beth or Dimitri; he's got no axe to grind with them.'

'They've got assets to meet.'

She looked at them. Both nodded, just a little too quickly.

'Now, please. We need to move quickly on this.'

Ruth stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped to her folders, and shuffling them into order, she gathered them up and strode from the room.

* * *

She found a space a couple of streets away from his house. Switching off the engine she sat for a bit, trying to quell the sick feeling of dread that was rising within her. She wasn't even sure what it was she did dread. His anger? His quiet contempt? Indifference? Sadness that weighed so heavy it was almost tangible? There would be no joy; that much she knew. When he opened the door she wouldn't see his face soften, his eyes light up, those sinful lips curve into a smile. Heartsick, she buttoned up her coat, turned up the collar, and set off into the damp, grey chill of the December morning.

* * *

By the time he woke the room was already bathed in a pale wash of light. As he slowly came to he shifted, gasping as his back protested. His eyes flickered open. He lay, fully clothed, on the sofa, a blanket twisted round his legs. As memories of the previous night resurfaced he swore softly. Crying like a baby, making a clumsy pass, then falling asleep on a beautiful woman after she'd made him dinner. Way to go, Harry. Massaging the back of his neck he dragged his legs off the sofa and pushed himself upright. Surely he was at least 30 years too old to be having morning after regrets and owing apologies. He felt a wet nose nudge the back of his hand and reaching down he lifted Scarlet up onto his lap. 'Hey,' he whispered, nuzzling his face into the soft ruff at her neck. 'I really hope Sally fed you and let you out last night, because I have a horrible feeling I screwed up on that score as well.' He stood, the little dog wriggling in his arms, laving his chin with darting licks, and wandered through to the kitchen.

Sally had cleared up as well. Shit. He opened the back door to let Scarlet out and slumped into a chair to contemplate his options. He was just coming round to the idea of coffee when the doorbell rang.

'Oh, fuck off,' he muttered. 'Not interested, whoever you are.' He sat, elbows on the kitchen table, head in hands, eyes closed. The bell rang again. 'Still not interested.' He heard the clatter of paws on the path and Scarlet came hurtling through the door and shot past him out to the hall. He heard her hurl herself at the door, barking joyously. 'You bloody traitor,' he grumbled, following her. 'Okay, okay, calm down.' Blocking her exit route with his legs he opened the door.

* * *

He looked, frankly, like he'd had a skinful and spent the night in a skip. His hair, grown well beyond the army regulation short back and sides, was mussed into a riotous dark blonde halo. His brown eyes, bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, regarded her blearily. He was wearing a crumpled chambray shirt that had contrived to both largely unbutton itself and escape from the confines of his Levis, and his feet were encased in a pair of bright red rugby socks that had seen better days. As his brain caught up with the evidence of his eyes a crimson blush scorched his cheeks, and his lips moved, but no sound emerged. He swallowed.

It registered that she wasn't any more together than he was. Her eyes had flicked up to his briefly, but were now focused somewhere in the region of his chest. She clasped one hand in the other, her middle finger rubbing the garnet in her ring. As she ducked her head, a tendril of chestnut hair fell across her face. Absently she tucked it back behind her ear in a gesture he knew so well.

'Ruth,' he managed finally.

She gave him a small smile. 'Harry.'

'It's been a while.'

'Six months and thirteen days. To be precise.'

He blinked.

'I-I'm sorry to interrupt. Alec sent me. We need your help.'

With those four words the brief flicker of hope fizzled and died. Bending, he picked up Scarlet once more, then stepped back. 'You'd best come in then,' he said quietly, and headed off down the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

By the time he'd folded up the blanket and replaced it on the back of the sofa she was standing in the doorway, still buttoned into her coat.

'Would you like some tea?'

She shook her head. 'Flying visit.'

'Right. Well, have a seat. I'll be with you in five minutes.'

Upstairs he peed, brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he frowned. He needed a haircut, a shave. He tugged his shirt over his head. And a shower. After a moment's deliberation he stripped and got into the cubicle. Bracing himself he stood under the shower head and gasped as the cold water hit him, letting it pummel his neck, his back, his face. As the hot water kicked in he closed his eyes and let the heat work on his stiff muscles, his mind drifting off into nothingness.

Downstairs, Ruth's irritation was mounting. What was he playing at? She stood and went into the hall. 'Harry?' At the foot of the stairs she tried again. 'Harry? Harry, I need to get back to the Grid!'

Somehow this got through, and jolted him back to reality. 'Sorry,' he called, 'I'm in the shower. Be five minutes!'

'You said that half an hour ago!'

'Five minutes, Ruth!'

Five minutes later he was washed, dried after a fashion, and buttoning up his jeans. He emerged onto the landing enveloped in billows of steam, expecting to hear the front door bang at any moment, but when he returned to the living room, clad in a pink and navy rugby shirt that had long ago been condemned as 'shrunk in the wash', she was standing by the window looking out at the rain. She looked tired, an impression accentuated by the lack of make-up and the colour of her coat against her pale skin. She never wore make-up anymore, he realised. Hadn't since...Cyprus. He suspected that the sackcloth and ashes theme was continued by the clothes hidden under her coat: drab and shapeless in a fetching shade of sludge. Lost in her thoughts her hand was playing at her throat, where once her necklace had been, and she was oblivious to his presence. He watched her for a moment, his heart heavy.

'Ruth..I-I'm going to make coffee so if you'd like to come through to the kitchen we can talk there.'

Seated at the table she watched him as he moved about the kitchen, assembling all the elements of the ritual, muttering under his breath as he did so.

'So what's with the dissolute 70s rock god look?'

'The what?' He turned to her, bemused.

'Forgive me, but you don't exactly look like a stuffed shirt pillar of the establishment anymore.'

'Thank you, Ruth,' he said drily, switching the kettle on to boil. 'If you were to ask any retired, male civil servant to name the best things about retirement, I bet you the contents of my piggy bank that high on his list would be never again having to wear a shirt and tie, and not having to shave every day.'

'And the hair?'

'Yes, well...' He rubbed his head self-consciously and turned his attention to freeing the bag of coffee beans from the depths of the freezer. 'Um, what did you want to ask me about?'

'The Krispys...'

He nudged the freezer door shut. 'The what?' This was becoming a common refrain.

'Sorry, that's an Alec-ism. GCHQ...shaped like a doughnut...Krispy Kreme are a brand of doughnuts, hence...'

'The Krispys. Very droll. Go on.'

'They've heard chatter out of South Armagh about an attack on the Royal wedding. Some group calling itself New IRA. Nobody has heard anything about them until now, and Alec thought you might know of someone who can give us an in.'

He frowned. 'Are you sure the intel is genuine? Why on earth would they want to do that? It would hardly be a PR masterstroke; quite the opposite in fact.'

'Well, we have no idea if it is or it isn't. Which is why we need to investigate further, which is why...'

'You need to pick my brains.' He tipped a spoonful of beans into the burr grinder and switched it on, watching as the beans whirred into powder. As he decanted the grounds into the cafetière, Ruth prompted, rather more irritably than she'd intended, 'Well?'

He raised his eyes and regarded her mildly. 'Patience, Ruth.'

'Harry, I told you I was in a hurry...'

'No, you didn't.'

'...nearly an hour ago, and you've got me sitting here watching while you play at Jamie Oliver!'

'I hardly think I can claim to be Masterchef material on the basis of making coffee.'

'Come on, Harry, you know how busy we are...'

'No, I don't, actually.'

Cheeks flushed, Ruth shoved the chair back and reared to her feet. 'Oh, will you stop trying to be so bloody awkward and just give me some names!'

Harry poured hot water over the grounds and placed the lid on top. 'It's thirty years since I last had anything to do with Northern Ireland,' he said quietly. 'A lot of my contacts are dead, or have been out of that particular game as long as I have.'

'Don't give me that.'

'It's true! Look, I'll need to give it some thought, speak to a few people. I'm not trying to be awkward Ruth; you know me better than that.'

_Huh, _she thought, _the Harry I thought I knew wouldn't have committed treason, and he would have put up a bit more of a fight at that inquiry and not just let them boot him into touch. He certainly wouldn't be bloody mouldering away like this. _Her eyes met his. 'Harry, if the last few months have taught me anything, it's that I don't know you at all.'

Turning to the door, she didn't see his stricken face. _You believe it? You believe what Alec told you? You think me capable of..._

Stunned, all he could do was watch her leave.

When the phone rang an hour later, he was still in the kitchen, the cafetière untouched on the worktop. It was Sally Chapman, inviting him to a concert that night.

'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, why not?'


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay. Thought I'd better upload what little I'd done just to get _some_thing up there. I have boxed myself into a bit of a tight spot re timescales, but I hope it's all plausible. Heck, a friend of mine married less than two months after meeting her husband so anything's possible, I guess! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Two weeks later**

After the initial, almost adolescent, apologetic awkwardness of what was, in effect, their first date, nothing was said. Nothing _needed_ to be said. Each knew that they enjoyed the other's company, and that this was reciprocated; and thus quickly, easily, they slipped into a routine of walks with Scarlet, cosy evenings at home, the occasional meal out. Sally made him feel good. She made him laugh. He didn't need to explain himself all the time; she just _got_ him. Little by little the fog began to shift, as he realised he had a reason to get up in the morning. She, in turn, emerging from her own fog of grief and despair and trying to patch together something resembling a new life, realised how lonely she'd been. Far from relishing her newfound independence, the feminist in her had reluctantly accepted that having been with Gavin since her mid-teens, she was used to, and needed, male company. In Harry she found the perfect combination of a self-sufficient, interesting, intelligent man who enjoyed being looked after but who would seamlessly, interchangeably slip into the role of caring for her.

As Christmas loomed, her first as a widow, she found herself if not exactly looking forward to it, all too aware that, sod convention, she wanted to spend it with Harry. She knew he was used to spending the festive season on his own - when he wasn't working - and she knew too that he would never ask her, assuming prior, stronger, calls on her time. These there were, but she batted them away, airing vague plans for a few days in the sun. Respectful of her grief, of the toll the months of Gavin's illness must have taken, none pressed her. And so two days before Christmas, as they met up for lunch, she'd invited him. Engrossed in wrapping the perfect fajita, he had taken a moment to respond.

'Aren't you spending it with family?'

'No. My choice,' she added quickly, as he frowned. 'But if you're free, I'd like to spend it with you.' She took a deep breath. 'In fact, why don't you and Scarlet come over tomorrow and stay for the duration? I've enough food to feed an army, enough booze to sink a battleship...does booze sink a battleship?...and a spare room if I've got all this completely wrong.'

The contents of Harry's carefully constructed fajita slopped onto his plate.

'Sorry?' he said faintly.

'Harry, you and I know better than most that life's too short. And I'm a grown up, and I want a grown up relationship. With you.'

'Right,' he said. 'Right,' and he contemplated the soggy mess of salsa and sour cream between his fingers.

Sally ducked her head, trying to catch his eye. 'So...? Look, I know it's early days and you're probably not used to women propositioning you..' she held up her hands, 'I mean that purely in the sense that women of our age are a bit less...forward than twenty somethings...but I have known you since nineteen oatcake, and we get on well, and we're both on our own, so why not?'

'All that's missing is the coffin,' he muttered wryly.

'Coffin?'

'Nothing, sorry.' He looked up, his eyes troubled. 'I don't know, Sally. I mean, I'm hugely flattered, you don't know how flattered, but...Christ, I am to relationships what the cousins are to world peace. You deserve better. Someone who'll make you happy.'

'So what have the last couple of weeks been about?'

Taken aback, he blew out his cheeks. 'I don't know...I've enjoyed your company; enjoyed having someone to share things with, tell the minutiae of my day to. I assumed you felt the same.'

'That's rather like a relationship, wouldn't you say?'

'One tiny aspect of a relationship, perhaps.'

'Tiny? Harry, those pedals of yours are going backwards so fast I'm getting indigestion. Why don't we just give it a whirl, hm? If it all goes horribly wrong at least we tried. And had some fantastic sex in the meantime.'

He was blushing. 'No pressure, then.'


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, those voodoo doll pins are hurting! Sorry folks. By totally inadequate way of apology for what I'm inflicting on you all, here's a quick, albeit brief, update.**

**

* * *

**

**January**

'Yep. Yep. Alright gorgeous, see you later.'

As Alec hung up, Ruth walked in, laden with folders, and he couldn't resist giving a luxurious stretch as he beamed at her.

'Ruthie!'

'Don't call me Ruthie.' She dumped the folders on his desk. 'The files you wanted.'

'Great, thanks. Listen, that was Towers' office. He wants to see me this afternoon.'

Ruth stared at him. 'That was Towers' office?'

'Yeah, I think...'

'..._gorgeous_?'

'What?'

'You called Towers' PA _gorgeous_?'

'Yeah, why not? Oiling the wheels, and all that. Ruth, she's about 350. It makes her day.'

'I'm sure it does.'

He ignored the sarcasm. '_Any_way, as I was trying to tell you, Towers wants to see me this afternoon, and I think he's going to give me the heads up that on Thursday the JIC will approve the appointment of a new Section Head.'

'Surely he'd just tell you that over the phone.'

Alec shrugged. 'Mebbes aye, mebbes naw. Could be he wants to sound me out about filling Harry's shoes permanently.' He watched her face carefully for any reaction. There was none.

'So does this mean the section is safe?'

'I'd say so.'

She pursed her lips. 'So will you tell everyone that the character assassination you did on Harry was a pack of lies?'

He stared at her. 'What?'

'Oh, come off it. Look, I know only too well that Harry's ruthlessness extends well beyond political machinations but even he has his limits. He wouldn't plant smack on the daughter of a politician whom he blamed for the death of an operative in the field, far less ensure she went down for intent to supply. He wouldn't cover up for a colleague who'd raped someone. And there is no way on this earth that he'd gun down a busload of school kids no matter whom it enabled him to frame. Need I go on?'

'Look, I know how...fond you are of Harry and I can appreciate that this...'

'Alec,' her tone was weary, 'don't start. Apart from the fact that I know Harry - and I can't believe he's changed as fundamentally in the last thirty years as you imply - digging out intel on those groups in Algeria led me to a file on Operation Moonstone, notes on which state that Harry was in Egypt at a time you claimed he was in Colombia.'

'False trails, Ruth. Black ops. And there are such things as aeroplanes.'

Ruth took a deep breath. 'You're good, I'll give you that; you did a good workup on it all but you didn't cover all the bases and that's one you missed. Admit it, Alec, it was all a total fabrication.'

Alec stared at her, a smile slowly forming on his lips. 'Harry did say you were the best desk spook he'd ever worked with. Shit. How long have you known?'

'I didn't believe it in the first place! What I didn't understand to begin with was why, but I guessed it might be to do with influencing our testimony at the inquiry. If we gave less than glowing endorsements of Harry that would limit the potential for guilt by association and give the powers that be less ammunition for disbanding the section. Is that what it was all about?'

He nodded. 'Pretty much.'

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. 'Well, let's just hope the end justifies the means. As it is, you should have trusted us; told us your plan. We're spooks, after all; we're capable of playing whatever part you want us to.'

Alec pulled the files towards him and flipped open the first folder. 'You forget who you were up against. And Beth, Tariq, Dimitri, they're young and inexperienced. If there was so much as a hint that their testimony was anything other than 100% genuine the inquiry would've ripped them to shreds. Harry was adamant: it had to come from the heart.'

'Harry?'

'Mm.'

'He...?'

Alec scanned the front sheet of the file, frowning as he did so. 'It was his idea. He knew they were going to throw him to the wolves but he wanted to protect you guys. Believe me, I didn't like it any more than you do, but...' he shrugged.

He didn't look up, and so didn't see the tears spring to Ruth's eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking furiously. 'Well, fingers crossed for this afternoon, then.'

'Mm.' Alec was engrossed in the files. The conversation was over.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the delay in updating, and thanks for all the reviews and feedback. Probably two more chapters to go after this. Apologies for the sweary words in this one.  
**

**

* * *

**

**Friday**

Even from several yards away Alec could see a difference in him. His back was straighter, his pace brisker, and his face, shorn of stubble, had lost the sharp angles and deep hollows. He headed over to the bench, brushed ineffectually at the little pools of rainwater, and sat down, envying Harry his ubiquitous long wool coat as he did so.

Scarlet reached him first, and he lunged forward to pat her at arms length before she could jump up and decorate his jeans with pawprints.

'Hello, Alec. Happy New Year.'

'You too.' The two men shook hands then Harry sat down beside him.

'Haven't seen you for a while. How have things been?'

Alec knew he wasn't enquiring after his health, or wondering if Santa had been good to him. 'The JIC met yesterday. They've agreed to appoint a new Section Head.'

Harry pursed his lips. 'Good, good. And...?'

'They thanked me for stepping into the breach in the interim.'

'Ah. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. It was never on the cards anyway. I'm hardly a poster boy for the Establishment, am I?'

Harry looked amused. 'And I was?'

'Um, Home Counties, boarding school, Oxbridge, Army. We're not exactly talking boy from the wrong side of the tracks, are we?'

'Well, when you put it like that...So who's name's in the frame, do you know?'

'Hal Weatherby.'

Harry started. 'Hugo's son?'

'Yup. Do you know him?'

Harry considered. 'It's years since I last saw him. His background is the civil service not the security services, so I don't know... He's not got his father's brains but he's a grafter, and from what I've heard of him he's a decent bloke.' He paused to hurl Scarlet's ball towards the copse.

'A decent bloke. Well, he's gonna have a helluva steep learning curve.'

'Do you think you'll stay?'

'Dunno. Haven't made my mind up yet. So, come on.' Alec slapped his hands on his thighs. 'Who's the lucky lady?'

'What lucky lady?'

'Oh, come off it, Harry. Last time I saw you, you were a mess. Not eating, not sleeping, face full of fuzz. And now you look much more like your old self so I can only assume you're getting some.'

'Eloquently put.'

'Come on, spill.'

Harry was all too aware that it wouldn't take Alec long to find out. 'Sally Chapman.'

'Sally Chapman?' Alec looked at him. '_Our _Sally Chapman?'

'The one and the same.'

'You jammy bastard. Christ, I phoned her cos I thought she might be able to sort your head out. I never thought...isn't that against some oath or other, shagging your patients?'

'I'm not her patient,' said Harry mildly. 'I haven't been since I got fired. Anyway, she came to see me as an old friend, not in any professional capacity.'

'So things are going well then? With the two of you?'

Harry was unable to prevent a bashful smile stealing across his features. 'Very well,' he admitted. 'It...yeah.'

'Wow. Well, I'm glad to see you're back on the horse. As it were,' he added hastily, seeing Harry's expression. 'And on that happy note, I'd best get back to the Grid. Given the news about Weatherby I take it you'd like me to tell the team about your cunning plan?'

He squinted up at him. 'What cunning plan?'

'The smear campaign.'

'Oh.' Harry's face clouded over. 'It doesn't really matter any more. Tell them whatever you like.'

* * *

'Well, that went well,' said Ruth sarcastically.

Alec looked up. 'Did you want something, or did you just come in to bust my balls?'

'There's no need to be crude. But I do think you could have handled it better...'

'Oh _do_ you, Ruthie?' He eased back in his chair. 'Well, how exactly would _you_ have handled it?'

'I wouldn't have had them feeling stupid for believing you and bad for not believing in Harry.'

He splayed his fingers. 'Not sure that answers my question.'

'What you said to me the other day would have been better.'

'Ohh, so I do get it right sometimes then? My god. Praise indeed.'

'I didn't say you got it right, I said it would've been better.'

Alec rolled a coin up and down his knuckles. 'They might feel a bit silly now, but they're big boys and girls; they'll get over it. Christ, anyone would think it was you guys whose names got dragged through the mud, not Harry's. I'm just surprised that he thought you of all people would be taken in.'

Ruth took a step nearer him. 'He thought what?'

Alec shrugged. 'That's the impression I get. He wasn't fussed about whether I came clean or not, which kind of implies that as far as he's concerned the damage is done. While he wanted you all to believe it he was disappointed that you did. Fuck knows why; he's done plenty in his time that he's ashamed of.'

'No. No, you're wrong. He knows me better than that.'

Alec was saved from responding by the phone on his desk ringing. He glanced at the display. Towers. He frowned.

By the time he hung up, Ruth's desk was in darkness. She had gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you for all the reviews; I appreciate them all, and am grateful for all feedback. I am very sorry for causing anyone any distress with this fic, but feel I have to go where the story takes me. For what it's worth, there's plenty fluff in this chapter...**

* * *

'It's open!' Harry shouted, hoping he could be heard over Scarlet, shut in his study out of harm's way yet still making her presence felt.

Footsteps.

'In the kitchen!'

As he tackled the S bend with renewed vigour he heard the kitchen door open.

'Thanks, just leave it on the table, will you?'

She saw bare feet. Jeans-clad legs. A midriff partially covered by a old navy t-shirt that had ridden up his chest.

'Harry?'

'Oouf.' He shuffled out, rubbing his forehead. 'Sorry, I thought you were Malik dropping off my booze order.'

'Are you okay? That was quite a clatter. Sorry, I didn't mean to give you a fright.'

'I'm fine, I'm fine.' He realised how he must look. 'Sorry, I've been doing all the mucky jobs around the house, and pretty much all I've managed to achieve so far is, er, getting mucky.' He clambered to his feet. 'What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be at work?'

'Nice to see you too,' she said drily, provoking a resigned grin. 'I fancied finishing early for once. And I wanted to have a word with you. I was worried you may have got the wrong end of the stick.'

Turning on the mixer tap he washed his face and hands, frowning at the plughole. 'Barely draining.' He turned. 'Sorry, wrong end of the stick?'

She was fidgeting. Never a good sign, in his experience. He towelled himself dry, wondering with no little trepidation what was coming next.

'Okay. The thing is...' she took a deep breath. 'The thing is, what I said about not liking being on my own...I don't want you to think...that's not why...that's not why I suggested we give things a whirl. It wasn't a case of your being...'

'Sal...'

'...the first available man and so I set out to seduce you...'

'Sal...' His hands were on her hips.

'I'm not so pathetic that I can't function without a man in my life...'

'Sal, hush.' His lips brushed her neck.

'Harry, I'm trying to be serious here. I went from my parents' house to halls to a flat with Gavin, and that was it. I've...oh god.'

His tongue, his teeth, teased at her ear, as one hand inched under her blouse.

'...I never lived on my own til Gavin died, and...ohhh...you might think I'd be glad to have my home to myself for once, but although it had its compensations, like getting the remote all to myself, and three hour baths with a bottle of wine...'

Harry raised his head and flashed a lascivious grin at her before returning to his slow, exquisite exploration of her body.

'...I missed the company. I missed the cosy domesticity. I missed the sex. But I wouldn't just have settled for...Jesus Christ, Harry!...the first Tom, Dick, or...oh, for...'

He was chuckling. Somehow he'd walked her back across the kitchen and she was now perched on the table, her legs straddling his. With practised ease he'd divested her of her blouse and his tshirt lay pooled at his feet.

'It's...fine...' he told her, between kisses. 'The right end of the stick was firmly grasped...I promise you. Now come on, woman. It's about time we got this kitchen christened.'

As Sal's fingers reached to unbutton his jeans, the doorbell rang. Harry groaned.

'Malik. Hang on. I'd better go.' Tugging on his t-shirt, Harry padded to the front door, and Sally, now mindful of the small fortune she'd paid chiropractors over the years, grabbed her blouse and sneaked upstairs.

* * *

As she clambered off him, the doorbell rang again. 'Dear god,' he muttered. 'Can a bloke not enjoy his conjugals without the world and his wife turning up on his doorstep?'

'I take it you're not expecting a second booze delivery then?' Sally grinned, standing up.

'We should be lying entwined in post-coital bliss, not answering bloody doorbells. Sally, leave it.'

She unhooked his dressing gown from the back of the door and pulled it on.

'Do what? What the hell books have you been reading? Don't you know that the drill is for you to roll over and fall straight asleep leaving me feeling frustrated, used and unloved?'

Eyes twinkling, he pouted. 'So this is you getting your own back? Seriously, Sal, it'll probably be the bloody window cleaner. And right now I don't really want someone clutching a shammy and a bucket of suds gazing in the windows.'

The doorbell rang again.

'Two minutes,' she promised him. 'I'll get rid.'

Opening the front door she was met with the familiar figure of Ruth Evershed. She wasn't sure which of them must have looked more startled, but she found her voice first.

'Ruth! Hello, come in, I'll just give Harry a shout.'

The younger woman's head dipped in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the flush that had bloomed on her cheeks. All of a sudden she seemed to find the doorstep worthy of intense scrutiny.

'N-no, sorry, I've obviously called at a bad time..I just wanted to ...well, it doesn't matter, really, I'll...sorry!' And with an apologetic smile she began to back down the steps.

'Don't be silly, come on in, he'll be thrilled to see you; he doesn't...'

But Ruth, shaking her head, her eyes now curiously unfocused, was at the bottom step. She gave a half wave, a flicker of a smile, then turned and headed back along the pavement. Sally watched her for a moment, nonplussed, then closed the door.

Ruth, glancing back, saw that she'd gone, and began to run.

* * *

When she reached the top of stairs, Harry was emerging from the bathroom. With a mischievous grin he grabbed the dressing gown cord and pulled her towards him.

'Harry, that was...'

'I don't care if it was the four horsemen of the bloody apocalypse. You need to make amends for abandoning me like that, and I know just how you can start.'

His hands reached inside the dressing gown, and as his lips closed hungrily on hers, all thoughts of Ruth Evershed evaporated.

* * *

**..but, I suspect, the wrong kind of fluff. Hope you enjoyed anyway, and thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I will probably regret finishing this chapter here, but it was getting a bit long. I guess that means the next one may be very short. Like this fic was supposed to be. Well, that worked out well, didn't it? Thanks to all who are still reading and, especially, reviewing.**

* * *

**Three weeks later**

A shadow fell over her desk and she looked up. Alec. He stood, arms folded, his face unreadable.

'Tell me, Ruth, is there something I should know?'

She frowned. 'About what?'

'Are you trying to bury skeletons, unearth skeletons, do work you should have done ages ago?'

'You've lost me.'

'The past few weeks you've been first in, last out,' he jerked his thumb in the direction of his office, 'and for all I know kipping on that sofa of a night. Anyone of a suspicious disposition would think you were trying to get things shipshape and Bristol fashion before Weatherby starts.'

'No, I'm just...' Her shoulders sagged. _Doing what?_

Alec unfolded his arms, and reaching round he switched off her monitor. 'Go home, Ruth,' he said gently.

'I just need to finish...'

'No, you don't. Go home. Get something to eat. Get some rest. You're no use to me running on empty.'

For a moment he thought Ruth was going to argue, then she leaned forward and switched off the mac, pushed her chair back, and stood.

'I'm going, I'm going.'

'And I'm watching, I'm watching.'

Only when the CCTV showed her stepping onto the pavement outside did Alec switch off his mac and head for the pods.

* * *

After twenty minutes at the bus stop, she realised she must've missed the last bus, and her only option was to walk or try to find a taxi. A sleety rain was now swirling, propelled by a gusting, arctic wind that rendered umbrellas useless. Covering her face as best she could with her scarf she ducked her head and began to walk, every so often glancing up to scan the deserted streets for the familiar orange glow of a taxi for hire. There was none, and eventually she decided she could neither get any wetter nor any colder and there was no point in even looking. Her mind in neutral, all she was aware of was the rhythmic clack of her boots against the wet pavements and the occasional whoosh of passing traffic. Time and distance ceased to matter. When she eventually reached her front door, both hair and scarf were plastered to her in an icy, sodden web that made her cheeks sting. Rummaging in her bag for the door keys she let herself in, her usual cheery 'hello darling!' failing to materialise, yet the cat still sauntered into the hall to greet her, watching dispassionately as she fumbled her coat, bag and scarf onto the hook and unzipped her boots.

Shivering from a combination of the cold and sheer exhaustion she padded upstairs, undressed, and climbed into the shower, turning the temperature as hot as she dared. Only when the needles against her skin sifted into tepidity did her hand reach for the dial to stop the flow. Stepping out into the steam clouds she cosied a towel around her and walked downstairs, a jigsaw of footprints trailing in her wake.

The cat fed and watered and a bottle of Vouvray retrieved from the fridge, she curled up on the sofa in the darkness of the living room and switched on the television. Long before the bottle was finished she fell asleep, bathed in the kaleidoscope of colours from the television screen, and the soft murmur of the late night voices flowed on unheard.

* * *

'Ah, Ruth, good of you to join us.'

'Sorry, sorry, slept in,' she muttered, sliding into the chair opposite Beth. Alec resumed his briefing on the DGSE, who'd been spotted in London monitoring the activities of a suspected Algerian terrorist cell. For Ruth, though, it was as if she were listening to a radio broadcast from an analogue station not quite in tune. Every few seconds a word or two was lost, and she found herself frowning as she tried to follow the gist of what he was saying, her fingertips rubbing at gritty eyes as if that would miraculously sharpen both vision and hearing. She was vaguely aware that Beth was looking at her, that Alec had stopped talking. She heard someone say her name. Someone was talking to her. Disorientated, she turned in the direction of the voice, and she realised Alec was moving towards her, but somehow as he got nearer his outline was blurring and his words fading. Confused, she pushed herself to her feet, her lips trying to articulate her thoughts but none emerged.

Then everything went black.

Lunging forward, Alec caught her just as her knees buckled. 'Christ,' he muttered, as he lifted her up into his arms. 'Somebody call Sally Chapman.'

Beth's thumb was already poised over her mobile phone. 'She needs an ambulance, Alec. She's out cold!'

'Open the door for me, willya? No, I think she's just fainted. I'm taking her to the first aid room. Tell Sally to get a wriggle on, yeah?'

* * *

As Sally Chapman re-emerged, Alec peeled himself off the wall. 'So what's the verdict, doc?'

'I think it's simply a combination of lack of sleep and not being able to remember when she last ate a proper meal, but I'm taking her to St Thomas's for a check up to be on the safe side.'

'She's agreed to that?'

'Alec, she collapsed. She's not really in a position to argue!'

'No, no. How is she?'

'Groggy. Embarrassed. Exhausted.'

Alec rubbed at his forehead. 'Shit. I should never have let it come to this. It was obvious she was...' He sighed. 'Is she going to be okay?'

Sally squeezed his arm. 'I'm sure she'll be fine. Could you arrange a pool car for me, please?'

'Sure. And thanks. Appreciate it.'

* * *

Clad in a hospital gown, Ruth lay rigid on her cubicle bed.

Sally tugged the curtain closed behind her. 'They're chasing the results. Hopefully it won't be too long now.'

Ruth's eyes remained fixed on some indeterminate point above her head.

'How are you feeling?'

'Like I'm wasting everybody's time.'

'Ruth, you keeled over at work. We need to find out why.'

'I told you. I slept in and didn't have time for breakfast.'

'One missed breakfast shouldn't have quite such a spectacular outcome unless there are other things going on, or other meals being missed. Can you remember yet what you had to eat yesterday?'

'Toast and jam for breakfast...and...yoghurt and an apple. I think.'

'Hardly enough to keep mind and body together, especially if you're working crazy hours in a job as stressful as yours.'

Ruth said nothing, her fingers plucking at the weave in the blanket.

'You could take a leaf out of Harry's book, you know.'

'What? Get myself fired? After this morning's performance HR are probably typing up my P45 as we speak.'

'Don't be daft. No, he used to sneak down to the first aid room occasionally for forty winks on the examination table. Particularly after he'd pulled an all-nighter.'

'Harry? No. No way.'

'I promise you. He said it was the one place he was liable not to be found as when any of his team needed medical treatment it was likely to be A+E that was required and that didn't stand for Anadin and Elastoplast.'

Ruth smiled.

'I went in one afternoon to get some tubigrip and I heard someone muttering from the back room. Apparently he usually woke up after 20 minutes - his old army training kicking in or something - but that time he was so exhausted that he fell properly asleep. And I walked in on a nightmare. Poor guy was mortified.'

Ruth's thoughts drifted to a dishevelled, sleep drunk, blushing Harry. 'I can imagine.'

Sally was watching her carefully. 'I'm not recommending that as a regular thing though. Far better to get a good night's sleep in a proper bed - with a bellyful of homecooked food inside you.'

'I know, I know.' She looked up as the curtain swooshed back and the F2 appeared, a sheet of paper clutched in his hand.

'Okay, Miss Evershed. We've got your results.'


	14. Chapter 14

**You are all lovely! Here's what should've been the end of the last chapter; a nice, short, bedtime read to keep you going til the next one as that could be a few days away. It will probably be rather pivotal to the whole thing and there are some decisions I still need to make!**

* * *

'God, this is exquisite. Here, try some.'

She held the King Prawn towards him, precariously balanced between her chopsticks. Gingerly he took it into his mouth.

'Mm... Damn, that is good. Don't suppose you want to swap it for my Twice Cooked Pork?'

Sally grinned. 'Sorry, darling. I did tell you this place was famous for its seafood, so that'll teach you not to listen to me.' With a flourish she picked up another prawn and moaned seductively as she chewed.

'Please tell me you're not going to go the whole hog and do the orgasm scene.'

Half laughing, half choking, she swallowed the rest of the prawn. 'Oh, Harry, don't. Everyone I've told about you thinks they're the first person to have cracked a joke about that bloody film.'

'You've told people about me?' Somewhat to his surprise, he was absurdly pleased at this.

Freeing a foot from the constraints of her Jimmy Choos, she began languidly massaging his ankle. 'Of course.' Her green eyes locked with his startled ones. 'I think we've rather gone beyond giving it a whirl, don't you?'

He swallowed. 'Yes, I rather think we have.'

* * *

The meal finished, they were sitting in contented silence, sipping at their jasmine tea. Not for the first time, Sally's thoughts returned to Ruth.

'I forgot to tell you, we had a bit of a saga at work today.'

'Oh?' Harry lived in hope of tales of the DG's nose coming off worst in an encounter with someone's fist.

'Mmm. I spent much of the day in A+E with one of your team.'

Harry's lips twitched. 'So what was it? Alec getting his stomach pumped? Beth going over her ankle in those bloody heels? Or, don't tell me, Tariq got a bit careless with the soldering iron and set fire to his fringe.' He chuckled.

'No, I'm serious, Harry. It was Ruth, Ruth Evershed. She collapsed.'

She saw the smile slide from his face, the colour drain from his cheeks. Very deliberately, he placed his cup on the tablecloth.

'What?'

'At the team briefing this morning. She stood up and...keeled over.'

'What...' he repeated, stupidly. 'Is she alright?'

'Yes and no. Turns out she's anaemic, which is fixable, but according to Alec she's been burning the candle at both ends to the extent that she's forgetting, or not bothering, to eat properly. She's the only one that can sort that but frankly I don't get the impression she has any inclination to.' She stood up and laid her napkin on the table. 'I'm...just going to the loo. Can you get the bill?'

Numb, he nodded.

As she wound her way between the tables, she looked back. And saw his eyes close, and his head sink into his hands.


	15. Chapter 15

**A very short update as I won't be able to do any more on this til next week now. Thank you very much for the lovely reviews, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

As he pulled out of the car park he turned left and headed south, into the rush hour traffic. He wasn't entirely sure why, and he didn't particularly want to analyse the decision. Mind in neutral, he circled Covent Garden and headed to Whitehall. A steady rain was falling, and the gaudy neon lights of the shop fronts danced over the blackened pavements, illuminating hurrying feet. Traffic at Millbank had slowed to a crawl, and he looked up, probably for the first time, at the imposing building in which he'd spent so much of his life. His emotions veered between pride and regret and sorrow; pride in what he and others had quietly done every day of their lives; regret at all the things left undone and unsaid; and sorrow at the loss of so many colleagues and friends for whom he would gladly have given his life.

Despite the hour, many windows were still lit, and his lips creased into a frown at the thought of a lamp that would still be glowing in a darkened office a few floors above him. With a weary sigh, he flattened his palm against the steering wheel, and nudging it round he eased the car into Horseferry Road.

So much so did he take her presence on the Grid for granted, that by the time the familiar form at the bus shelter registered, he was past her. He glanced in the mirror as if needing confirmation of what he already knew, then turned left and parked off Regency Street. As he locked the car door he wondered fleetingly what the hell he was doing, but turning his collar up in a futile gesture against the buffeting rain he left the question unanswered and headed back the way he had come.

As he approached the shelter he could see she was engrossed in a book. Wrapped in a long, wool coat, her face was partly obscured by her scarf, and she wore black leather boots that could only have been Beth's influence. They might be no good in a pursuit, but bloody hell they would do wonders for office morale.

'Ruth,' he said, softly.

Her head remained bent over her book.

He moved closer, the rain coursing in icy rivulets down his face, distorting his vision. He blinked furiously, his fingertips sweeping at his eyes. As he opened them once more, she was looking up at him.

'What the hell are you doing here?'

'I-I was just passing. I thought you might like a lift.'

'What, piggyback?'

His lips twitched. 'My car's parked in Rutherford Street. Come on, you could catch your death on a night like this.'

'I'm fine, Harry; I'll get the bus.'

'Please. It'd be good to catch up. You could tell me if that intel was any good. You know, about the Irish...'

'I can't discuss any of that with you, Harry; you know that.'

'Is that so? Come on, Ruth, you were happy enough to give me chapter and verse when you wanted to pick my brains.' He could see her tense, and held his palms up. 'Sorry, I just...Please, let me take you home. For all the times I had Mike drive past you in the rain. For all the last buses I made you miss because of some imminent armageddon that turned out to be some spotty geek in a Coventry bedsit.' He gave a rueful smile. 'I would say for old times' sake, but if that's not grounds for telling me to take a running jump I don't know what is.'

Beneath the scarf, the promise of a smile.

'Look, if you're going to leave work before the dawn chorus for once, you might as well make the most of it, don't you think? Seems a shame to spend half your evening sitting in a bus shelter in the rain when you could be...' his voice faltered.

'Spending it with you?'

Her tone was mocking. He flinched.

'I – look. No strings; I'm just offering an old colleague a lift home in the rain. Yes or no?'

Barely perceptibly, she shook her head. 'Please Harry, just go.'

'Ruth...'

'Will you please just...bugger off and leave me alone!'

Disbelieving, he reached for her, only to feel a hand clamping onto his wrist.

'I think she told you to do one, pal.'

Harry looked up into accusing eyes set deep in an angular face. The hand that held him was patterned with tattoos, and the grip was strong.

'It's okay, I...'

'No, it's no' okay, pal. Beat it.' Releasing Harry's arm, he shoved him in the shoulder by way of emphasis. Caught off balance, Harry staggered back.

'Please, it's fine.' Ruth stepped between the two of them, her hand on Harry's chest warning, placating. 'Thank you for your help, but really, it's fine.'

The man looked at her sceptically and grunted. 'Aye, awright doll. If you're sure.'

'Yes, I'm sure. Thank you.'

And grabbing Harry's arm she frogmarched him in the direction of Rutherford Street.


	16. Chapter 16

**Well, changing my email address may have prompted the alerts to start coming through but it hasn't done anything to wind up this story, which has had two chapters to go since about chapter eight! Thank you to all who are sticking with it, and by way of thanks for your efforts, here's some Harry and Ruth, with a Mr Darcy-esque image especially for Fluffy Spook. Hope you all enjoy, and apologies for the sweary bits.**

* * *

They drove for a few blocks in silence, Harry still nettled by the bus stop encounter, Ruth alternately hoping she didn't look too much like a drowned rat and being annoyed at herself for worrying about it.

'So how are things?' he asked eventually.

'Fine, thanks.'

He tried again. 'New boss started yet?'

'No, not til after Easter.'

'He's working his notice?'

She shrugged. 'I assume so.'

He glanced at her, head bent, fingers toying with the tassels on her scarf, and took in the weary slump of her shoulders.

'Have you eaten?' he asked quietly.

She shook her head. 'I've got some soup in the fridge though. I made a batch over the weekend. Little Miss Organised, that's me.' The streetlights caught the small, unconvincing smile.

Harry shifted gear and nudged the accelerator to overtake the lorry in front. 'It's a cold, wet, February night. You need something more substantial than soup. Why don't we..'

At that moment there was a loud bang and the car lurched violently to the right.

Hurled towards him, Ruth's hands grabbed at his shoulder. 'Harry!'

Wrestling with the steering wheel, one foot clamped on the accelerator, he managed a 'hang on!' before he managed to bring the car back under control as the lorry sailed on, oblivious. Breathing heavily, not wanting to think about what might have happened had there been traffic coming the other way, Harry manoeuvred the car towards the kerb and killed the engine.

'Are you alright?'

Numbly, she nodded. 'I think you took most of the impact. Sorry.' She watched as he switched on the hazard light then unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle. 'W-what happened?'

'Tyre blew, I think.' He saw the look on her face and smiled. 'Don't worry Ruth, I don't think anyone was taking pot shots at us.'

'Makes a nice change. Can I give you a hand?'

'No, no point in us both getting drenched any more than we have to. You stay here for the moment; I'll let you know when I need to jack it up.'

Head hunched into his collar, he waited for a couple of vans to pass then headed round to the boot, barely glancing at the shredded remains of the rear tyre. He was assembling the warning triangle when he heard Ruth's voice beside him.

'Harry, shouldn't you just call the AA? It's not safe to change that here.'

He blinked at her through the rain. 'My membership lapsed three months ago; I forgot to renew it. Don't worry, I'll be fine.' As she hesitated, unconvinced, he added, 'go on, get back in the car; you'll get soaked.'

Ignoring the protests of his knees, he crouched down and began working on the wheel nuts. All too soon, he realised that a long, bulky wool coat was not the best attire for the job, and to Ruth's consternation he opened the back door and tossed it onto the back seat.

'For god's sake, Harry, you'll get double pneumonia. Call a garage or something; there's no need to be stupid about this.' The door clunked shut on her protests, and with a growl of exasperation she slammed back against her seat. Having no inclination to provide Harry's macho idiocy with an audience, she re-opened her book.

A couple of chapters later, and her door swung open. She looked up to see Harry standing on the pavement, shirt plastered to heaving chest, massaging his knuckles.

'Sorry Ruth, I'm afraid you'll need to get out now.'

She gazed at him for a moment, then nodded her assent and clambered out.

* * *

Ruth was fidgeting with the heating controls. 'Perhaps you should put your coat back on? This'll take a while to kick in.'

Flicking the indicator, Harry pulled out. 'Ruth, I'm filthy, I'm soaking wet and that coat has a very expensive silk lining. As the cousins would say, it's not going to happen.'

'Well, at least if you do catch pneumonia you've got Sally to nurse you better.'

She saw him stiffen. Taken aback by Alec's indiscretion, it was a moment before he responded.

'I'm sorry. I did want to tell you myself. I...'

'It's fine, Harry. Really, it's none of my business. Won't she be wondering where you are, though?'

'She's...uh...visiting a friend for a few days.'

'Oh I see. While the cat's away, eh?'

He frowned. 'What? No, Ruth, it's not like that at all, I promise you. Like I said, I was just passing.'

'Mmm. So if she'd been in the car with you, you'd still have stopped to pick me up?'

'Of course, especially after last week. Apart from anything else, Sally would've insisted.' Too late, he realised his mistake. Her head whipped round.

'Last week? You know about last week? She _told_ you? Whatever happened to doctor – patient confidentiality, Harry?'

'She just mentioned it in passing as she knew we used to work together. She didn't go into specifics.'

'Oh, well, that's alright then. Tell me, what other _generalities _have you two shared about me during pillow talk, hm? Had a good laugh at my expense, have you?'

'Now you're just being silly.'

She gasped. 'Yes, of course, you're right. Silly me. There was me thinking my medical history remained privileged information. So, are there any blanks you'd like me to fill in for you? Anything you'd like more information on? My haywire periods? My last sexual health check? Or how about something a little more mundane, like my blood pressure? Cos I can tell you it's pretty bloody stratospheric right now!'

Harry slammed his palms against the steering wheel, making her jump. 'For Christ's sake, Ruth!' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'Look, let's not have this conversation while I'm driving. I think we've had enough narrow squeaks for one night, don't you?'

'Conversation?' She gave a hollow laugh. 'Do you really think we have anything left to talk about?'

'Anything _left_? Ruth, we never started. Not about anything that mattered. You wouldn't even let me tell you that I love you, for fuck's sake!'

He lapsed into silence, jaw working. Startled by his evident distress, Ruth's anger evaporated.

'Look,' she said, finally, 'there's a good Chinese just up here on the left. Why don't we get a takeaway and you can get dried off and warmed up a bit before you go home.'

Not trusting himself to speak or to look at her, he nodded and scanned the road ahead for somewhere to park.

* * *

As she opened the front door, Fidget slid out and shot between their legs. 'Daft cat,' Ruth muttered, 'you'll catch your death.'

Laden with takeaway bags, she switched on the hall light with a practised elbow, and held the door open for Harry with a foot. Wordlessly he followed her through to the kitchen, and watched as she deposited the food on the worktop and put plates under the grill to warm.

She glanced up at him, seeing for the first time the extent of the filthy havoc his stint as a mechanic had wreaked. She smiled. 'I think you'd better have a shower before we eat.'

'I don't want to put you to any trouble, Ruth.'

'It's hardly any trouble. Second on the right at the top of the stairs, there are clean towels on the rack, help yourself to shower gel and whatnot. Oh, and if you leave your clothes outside I'll put them over the radiators, dry them off a bit.'

'Thanks. I won't be long.'

Upstairs he hurriedly stripped, piling his clothes on the stool in the corner. So much for the fancy heated car seats; his trunks were still damp. After a moment's hesitation he folded them over the heated towel rail, deposited the rest of the pile on the landing, and with a weary sigh stepped under the shower.

* * *

Clean, warm and dry once more, only then did it occur to him that he wasn't exactly in a position to dress for dinner. The bathrobe hanging on the back of the door barely overlapped round his hips, let alone across his chest, and even with his still-damp trunks on underneath, appearing downstairs clad in only a bath towel seemed inappropriate. He opened the door to call Ruth, and saw a pair of jogging bottoms and a tshirt lying neatly folded on the landing carpet. George's, he supposed. Not keen to give the matter any further thought he pulled the clothes on over bare skin and trotted downstairs.

* * *

**Decided to finish the chapter here as it was getting a bit long. Hopefully part two of their evening will follow before the weekend, and then there *should* be two chapters to come after that. Hey, if I say it often enough, even I might come to believe it!**


	17. Chapter 17

**As I promised an update before the weekend, I thought I'd best post this before I rewrote it yet again. Thanks as ever for all the lovely reviews. Hope you enjoy...**

* * *

She was standing in front of the living room window, head bent to one side as she towel dried her hair. He watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her mood, only now conceding to himself that her anger and sense of betrayal were justified, and wondering at the reasons for Sally's lapse in judgement. After all, it had taken subterfuge on Ros's part for them to discover that Adam was a liability to himself and others, so why would she...

His thoughts were interrupted as Ruth registered his presence and turned round.

He plucked at the tshirt. 'Thanks for the clothes.'

She gave her hair one last pat and shook it out, fingers teasing it into some semblance of a hairstyle. 'I put everything in the wash. By the time we've eaten it should all be ready to go in the dryer. I just thought that drying them might seal in the dirt.'

'I can't claim to be an expert on laundry matters, but thank you.'

'And your shoes are in the hall, stuffed with newspaper.'

He smiled. 'Takes me back. I seemed to spend half my childhood in sopping wet footwear. I remember ripping up Ben's _Eagle_ once to dry out my rugby boots. I'm surprised I don't still have the bruises.'

Ruth, remembering she wasn't supposed to know who Ben was, asked, 'Your brother?'

'Yes.'

Once upon a time she would have asked him to tell her about him, but she no longer felt she had the right. Nodding noncommittally she moved past him and went back through to the kitchen.

* * *

They ate their soup in silence, the only sounds the clinking of spoons against bowls and the crunch of prawn crackers. As Ruth's thoughts ricocheted between anger and embarrassment at Sally's actions, she was all too aware too of Harry's bare forearms mere inches away, of the damp hair curling around his ears, of the fact that for once he wasn't buried underneath coats and jackets and waistcoats and shirts and vests, and only a thin layer of cotton separated her from..

Her spoon clattered off the edge of her bowl and cartwheeled off the table.

'Ruth? You okay?' Harry's spoon was poised halfway to his mouth. 'You look a bit flushed.'

She ducked down to retrieve the spoon and caught a glimpse of bare feet, one resting on the upturned edge of the other, legs spreadeagled. Shooting upright, her head smacked off the underside of the table leaf, jolting her soup bowl. As she yelped, Harry reared to his feet and grabbed it.

'Bloody hell, Ruth!'

Clutching her head, she sat back in her seat. 'Owww. Sorry, but buggering owww, that hurt!'

'Here, let me have a look.'

Before she could object he was beside her, one hand cupping the back of her head as the fingertips of the other gently examined her scalp. Barely resisting the instinctive reaction to bend and kiss it better he let his hands drop. 'No lacerations, but you might have a bit of a lump in the morning. I think you'll live.'

'Thank you,' she muttered, disorientated by the familiar scent of mint shower gel and Aveda shampoo.

Sitting back down, he took a deep breath. 'Look, Ruth, I am sorry about what Sally did. I'm sure it's not something she makes a habit of, and I never thought at the time that she shouldn't be telling me it, I was just...' he clamped his lips shut, '..I was concerned. Alec was concerned. Possibly she thought we could help.'

Ruth stared at him in dismay. 'Alec's talked to you about it too?'

'No, it appears that in some matters at least he can keep his mouth shut.'

'What do you mean?'

'I told him about Sally and me in confidence. I'm sorry, I didn't think for a moment he'd spread the glad tidings to anyone, least of all you.'

'Harry, Alec didn't tell me. I went round to your house and Sally opened the door. She, well, she was wearing your dressing gown and it was pretty bloody obvious she'd just left your bed.' Her voice caught, and she forced a laugh, furiously blinking back the unexpected tears that threatened to make her evening's humiliation complete. She risked a glance up at Harry just in time to see the look of horror on his face.

'Oh god. Oh, Ruth, I'm sorry. She didn't say. Well, she tried to tell me but...' he dragged his palms down his cheeks. 'And I thought your finding out from Alec was bad enough.'

Suddenly the contents of her soup bowl seemed fascinating. 'Well, like I said earlier, it's nothing to do with me; none of my business. We're only ex-colleagues, after all.'

Slowly, deliberately, Harry drained the last of his soup. 'Ex-colleagues, Ruth? I don't remember ever taking Ros out to dinner. Or Beth or Zoe or Jo or Sam. I'm pretty sure none of them has ever kissed me and I'm bloody sure I've never asked any of them to marry me. _Ex-colleagues_?'

Uncowed by the flash of anger she regarded him steadily. 'Well, what would you call us? We've never been lovers; it's a push even to call us friends. We've had one date and we saw each other outwith work maybe half a dozen times in all the years we worked together, and even then that was with the rest of the team.'

'Okay, so maybe by the strict definitions of the words we're only ex-colleagues, but you know there was more to it than that. Do you honestly think that if anyone else had been set up over the Mik Maudsley affair that I would've been willing to play the fall guy? And if Tom or Adam or Lucas had been willing to take the rap would you have volunteered to spend the rest of your life in exile to clear their name? Would you?'

He was on his feet, and pacing. Ruth, swirling her soup back and forth with her spoon, said nothing.

'Ruth, it is to my eternal regret that when I first realised how I felt about you I didn't do anything about it. Even now I'm not really sure why. I suppose partly it was because I was your boss, partly because I didn't think you could remotely be interested in me and partly because I valued the working relationship that we had and didn't want to ruin it. The ironic thing is that that's exactly what I ended up doing anyway.' His voice caught and he paused, looking out through the uncurtained windows at the rain, trying to slow his ragged breathing.

'A bigger regret is that years later I let office gossip put you off having a relationship with me, but the...the biggest regret of all is that I didn't get on that boat with you, that I let you sail off into the bloody sunset with only an envelope full of money and the clothes on your back, and not even your name to call your own.' The hand clawing through his hair was shaking. 'I wish I...'

Ruth's eyes remained fixed on her soup. 'Wishes change nothing, Harry. This isn't a fairy tale. I had to watch a good man be killed for no other reason than he loved me. Nico was orphaned because his father loved me. All the wishing in the world won't undo that.'

'You still blame me for that? You still hate me for what Mani did? And yet when you thought I'd given Albany to Lucas to save you...'

'That's different.'

'Different? How is it different, Ruth?' he shouted. 'You thought sacrificing thousands of innocent men, women and children was worth it to save those _you_ loved, yet you condemned me when you thought I'd done the same to save you! How is that different? Oh, will you stop playing with that fucking...' Before she could react, he grabbed her soup bowl and sent it frisbeeing across the room. It shattered against the far wall, scattering its contents in glutinous arcs.

'Harry!' She was on her feet too, but he pulled out of her grasp and strode over to the sofa, slumping down onto the cushions. Nonplussed, Ruth hesitated for a moment then marched out of the room, reappearing with kitchen roll, a damp cloth and a dustpan and brush. She held them out to him.

'Can you clean that up, please?'

He stared up at her. 'What?'

'You heard. What, you throw a temper tantrum and you think _I_ should clean it up?'

'Ruth, I hardly think that...'

She shoved her bundle at his chest. 'Since you've chosen to redecorate with my starter, I'm sure you'll excuse me if I get on with the main before it gets totally ruined as well.'

Incredulous, his eyes followed her exit. 'How can you even _begin_ to think about bloody food right now?' he bellowed.

In the kitchen she stood for a moment, letting her jangling nerves subside, then she removed the foil trays from the warming heat of the oven and piled them, the plates, and the cutlery onto a tray. When she reappeared in the living room he was on his knees, his anger channelled into vigorous scrubbing of a persistent patch of Hot and Sour soup. He glanced up, catching the smile she'd been unable to suppress.

'I'm glad you find this so amusing,' he growled.

She laid the tray on the table and set their places. 'Come and eat.'

He sat back on his heels and watched her as she plated up. 'You've still not explained why I should've saved George but not you.'

'Oh, Harry...'

'Talk to me, Ruth.'

Ruth's eyes rolled heavenwards. 'Harry, please, just leave it. I've relived both those days a million times and the last thing I want is to dredge them up again now.'

Bewildered, Harry levered himself to his feet. 'But...'

'No buts. Let it go.'

Reluctantly conceding defeat for the moment, he sat back down at the table and with a heavy heart began spooning rice and ginger and garlic chicken onto his plate.

* * *

**As you can see, their evening isn't over yet; the next bit I'm still not happy with and have done about half a dozen drafts. I won't be able to update for a couple of weeks now, so hopefully by then I'll have come up with something reasonable!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry folks, I tried to do the penultimate chapter in a oner but as per it took on a life of its own and I thought I'd best split it. Anyway, this one continues where the last one left off. Thanks as ever for the reviews, and apologies for the wait!**

* * *

For a few minutes his mind cycled through possible safe topics of conversation, glancing up at Ruth occasionally as if she might give approval to his thoughts. She ate in silence, her face expressionless, her eyes not leaving her plate.

'So,' he said eventually. 'Is everything alright now?'

'Hm?'

'After the other day. At work. When you...collapsed.'

'You make it sound like I had a heart attack. I fainted, Harry. Too little sleep, I hadn't had breakfast, it happens.'

He frowned. _It doesn't just 'happen'. If it were solely down to a few late nights, the odd skipped meal, I'd've spent half my life keeling over. _Sensing that pointing this out would only antagonise her further, he restricted himself to what he hoped was a convincing, relieved smile.'Right, right. Well, that's good.'

Ruth's attention had already returned to her meal.

'Good call on the Chinese. This is lovely.'

'Mm.'

She glanced up just in time to see him heave a weary sigh, eyes heavenwards, then plaster a smile on his face and try again.

'Read any good books lately?'

It was such an inept, cliched attempt at a conversational topic that she couldn't help but look up at him, chewing her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing.

'W..what?'

Harry's shoulders sagged. 'Oh, throw me a bone, Ruth, for chrissake.' His eyes met hers, and he saw that the cold, midwinter blue of moments ago had gone. Beyond all reason, his heart lifted, yet he found himself blurting out, 'You obviously want everything that matters to be left unsaid, so all that remains is small talk, wouldn't you say?'

As quickly as it had appeared, the light in her eyes faded. He could almost see her steeling herself, and slowly, deliberately, she laid down her cutlery.

'What is it you want to say, Harry? What do you want to tell me that I don't already know?'

'I don't _know_ what to say, because I don't know what the hell's going on in that head of yours. I don't understand why I should've saved George but not you. I don't understand why...'

He pushed his plate away from him and cupped his head in shaking hands. 'The woman who kissed me goodbye at the docks _loved_ me. Loved me enough to walk out of her life to save me. The woman brought to the warehouse by Mani's goons resented and despised me even before George was killed... Salus populi suprema lex, Ruth. You said it yourself; you said that we did the right thing, so...why?'

'I'm not the woman who fell in love with you, Harry, any more than you're the man I fell in love with.'

'What..?'

'I'm not the carefree, clumsy escapee from GCHQ who took one look at you and dropped an armful of files on the meeting room floor, not anymore. Too much has happened, Harry. We've been through too much. People have _died_ because of me. And not just George; I emptied a gun into Gilles Rigaut and went back to work the next day quite the thing, brushing off burns and cuts and bruises as if I'd merely got a paper cut from doing the bloody filing!'

'And me? What are you trying to say, Ruth? That I've been a, a disappointment to you? So, what...you fell in love with this...' his voice was laden with sarcasm, '..this _saviour_ of the free world, and then you realised that he was human like everyone else but with rather more failings than most? Is that it? You despise me for the decisions I had to make, that I had to live with, every day of my life?'

'I...' Ruth slumped back in her chair. 'Harry, we've long since forfeited the right to domestic bliss, to the chocolate box cottage with roses round the door, the white picket fence, the 2.4 kids...that life's for other people.'

'Says who?' he roared. 'And stop bloody well evading my questions!'

She didn't respond, but sat, head bowed, eyes closed. Frustrated beyond measure, Harry lurched to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He paused for a moment, letting his breathing slow and his anger subside, then resting his knuckles on the table, he leaned towards her. 'We did what had to be done, Ruth, both of us. God knows, I have more than my fair share of regrets and I've made more mistakes than I care to count, but when the time comes and I'm standing at the Pearly Gates I reckon I will be able to give a reasonable account of myself. And in the meantime, I believe I'm as entitled to happiness as anyone else. As are you.'

'Well, would that we all could sleep as easy in our beds as you, Sir Harry.' She flinched at the bitterness in her voice, and paused before she continued. 'After I left, until I met George, I had nothing, and no-one. All I had was myself and my thoughts and way too much time to think.'

Harry's eyes bore into hers. 'What's to think about? Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit, Ruth. That's all that matters in the end.'

Her eyes filled with tears and shaking her head she forced a wobbly smile. 'Maybe in Seneca's Rome that was true, and maybe that was enough. But in our world it's not enough, Harry. It's not!'

Her fingers fluttered to her mouth, and Harry, despairing, could only watch as she pushed her chair back and fled from the room.

* * *

Two hundred miles away in York Sally Chapman leaned against the kitchen island, glass of chilled Sancerre in her hand, as she watched her oldest friend slide the contents of her chopping board into the wok.

'Are you sure I can't help?'

'Positive. Table's set, this is just a stir fry. It'll be done in a tick. And most importantly, we're sorted for falling down juice.' Kate Richards prodded at the chicken strips with a spatula then turned to Sally, her grey eyes registering the fact that despite the immaculate appearance, the cheery tone, all was far from well.

'Bit of a wobble?' she asked, gently.

Sally gave a rueful smile. 'Never could hide anything from you, could I? But it's not a wobble in the sense you mean. It's not Gavin, it's...' she swallowed.

'What, the guy you've been seeing? Harry? Oh, what's he done?'

Sally pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Nothing, he's not done anything, not as such. The problem is that I've fallen for him, but I think he's in love with someone else.'

'He's cheated on you? But I thought you said...'

'No, no, I'm sure he hasn't. They...they used to work together and I've been doing some asking around and it seems as if they had some on-off thing going on for years. How long it's been over, I don't know. But the point is, I'm pretty sure he's not over _her_.'

'So what happened to make you think that something had been going on in the first place?'

'I didn't tell you, but when we got together he was in a bit of a bad way. He'd lost his job, the job that had been his life for thirty odd years. A colleague was worried about him and asked me to go see him as a friend, but with my medical hat on, if you get my drift. Anyway, fast forward. The depression was just mild; reactionary, nothing serious, and as we spent time together it began to lift. However, he never showed any inclination to have sex. At first I blamed his mental state, then I thought maybe it was because he was trying to do the gentlemanly thing, then I thought it must be me...'

'But I thought you two were...'

'We were. We _are_. But the first time, Jesus, I had to practically drag him to bed, and even then it was obvious his heart wasn't in it. He wasn't making love to me, he was just going through the motions because he felt he had to.'

Kate, tossing the stir fry, frowned. 'If he'd been depressed he was hardly going to be up for swinging from the chandeliers and jumping off the wardrobe, though, was he?' She caught the look on her friend's face. 'Sorry, I'm not trying to be flippant. How are things now?'

'Okay, so I may only have one man to compare him to, but he's good. Even I can see that he's bloody good. And he has begun to take the initiative more. But it's like a tick box exercise. Sex by numbers. The emotional bond isn't there. He doesn't make me feel..._cherished_ like Gavin did.'

'Sweetheart, you've been with Harry, what, three months? You were with Gavin for thirty odd years! And some men never get beyond the, the clinically expert, regardless of how long you've been together or how they feel about you. Trust me on that one.'

'Okay, fair enough, but... Okay. To begin with, he'd only have sex at mine, and he wouldn't stay over. He said it was because he has nightmares. Old army stuff, whatever. Anyway, one night he presumably intended to go home, but he fell asleep, and woke me up in the wee small hours calling her name, telling her he loved her, begging her not to leave him.'

'But that's just a dream, Sal. Hell's bells, if you took my dreams as gospel Angelina Jolie would be mighty pissed off with me right now, and as for my sister in law...well, let's not go there.'

'Oh come on. Dreams don't come out of nowhere. They come from somewhere in your past, or your subconscious; and I'm not getting all hippy trippy dream analysty, it just stands to reason. But the thing is, he ran out of excuses for doing the post-coital flit, and the same thing's happened a few times since. Well, that and the screaming abdabs which I assume _is_ Army related.'

Kate bent to retrieve the plates from under the grill and began to dish up. 'So far as I can see it, all you _really_ have is a bit of office gossip that once upon a time they were, what, fuck buddies?'

Sally grimaced. 'Kate!'

'Sorry, but there's nothing to suggest they were the romance of the century, is there?'

'No, but, do they need to be? All that matters is that he still loves her.'

'Yeah, well, I don't think you've entirely proved the case for the prosecution, milady.'

'Maybe not, but the prosecution hasn't rested yet. Not quite.'

And picking up the wine glasses, Sally followed Kate through to the dining room, where she recounted the tale of Ruth's collapse.

* * *

******Thanks for reading!** Still undecided between a couple of scenarios for the end of Harry and Ruth's evening. Hopefully though the next chapter will follow by the end of the long weekend. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Wow, I'm so chuffed with all these lovely reviews, especially given the ongoing angst overload! Thank you so much; I really do appreciate them.**

**A wee note for gee, Lady J and anyone else whom I've confused (sorry) – we're now in February; Harry asks Sally to marry him in early March. At the moment the plan is for the story to play out from this point, ie there won't be any more flashbacks. I'll make it clear if I change my mind on that. **

**Anyway, onwards; hope you enjoy. I'm posting this unedited at silly o'clock again; I hope I don't regret that come the morning!**

* * *

Hands jammed into his armpits, Harry paced. He should go after her. He should give her space. After a couple of minutes, a period which qualified as doing neither, he ventured, trepidatious, into the hall.

He found her crouched on the kitchen floor, feeding his clothes into the tumble dryer.

'Hey.'

'Hey.'

'So.'

She gave a lopsided smile. He missed that smile. 'So.'

Gazing down on her, he felt a bubble-burst of mixed emotions, of love and desire and despair, rising in his chest.

'I don't know what to do, Ruth.'

Setting the dial, she closed the dryer door and levered herself to her feet. 'Do what you're doing, Harry. Move on. Live your life. Be happy.'

He was across the room in two strides, gripping her arms, his head bent to hers. 'Happy? Ruth, Sally is wonderful, and I...she means a lot to me, but she's not you. She's not you!'

She couldn't look at him; the love, the despair in his eyes was unbearable. 'Harry, you're hurting me.'

'Sorry, sorry.' He released her and let his arms fall momentarily to his sides, before his fingertips reached for her again. 'But trust me, whatever I feel for Sally, whatever I come to feel for Sally, will never come close to what I feel for you. All I'm asking for is a chance. A chance to make amends. A chance to prove...'

The words died in his throat as Ruth turned from him and walked towards the window. Outside the rain had eased, but the restless wind whipped at the trees, rattling the bare branches against the glass. It would be so easy. So easy to say yes, to take his hand and lead him upstairs, to feel those sinful lips upon hers, those strong hands on her bare skin. Slowly, she shook her head.

'Ruth, please.'

As she turned to him she was discomfited, irritated to see that he was on the verge of tears.

'Why now, Harry?' she snapped. 'Why now? You had all those years on the Grid to say something. You didn't. You could've come after me when I was doing my own Grand bloody Tour. You didn't. Your idea of telling me how you feel is proposing out of the blue at a funeral...'

'It was hardly out of the blue. And I've already apologised...'

'...saving my life at the expense of thousands, maybe millions, of others...'

He sank down onto a kitchen chair. 'Albany was a fake. You know that.'

'...and then declaring your undying love the minute your girlfriend leaves town! I mean, Jesus, Harry!'

'I...we...' Harry exhaled, and rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers against his chin. 'After Lucas, I was certain that I'd blown any chance I ever had of the happy ever after with you. The rose covered cottage, the white picket fence. All that.' His lips flickered into a faint smile. 'And although I had thought I was far too old for the whole...Mills and Boon scenario, I felt as if my heart had been ripped out and fed to the FSB, and I discovered that all the corny old clichés are clichés for a reason.'

Ruth, her heart constricting, said nothing, and stood, head bowed.

'I hoped that with Sally I might have a chance to get over you, but when I thought you were ill...I realised that one way or another we have to sort this out, for both our sakes.'

She looked up. '_Sort this out_? What am I, your sock drawer?'

'No, my sock drawer's much better behaved than you are. Licked into shape by the army, so it was.'

'Oh well, glad to hear the army was good for something. It certainly didn't do much for your timing. Or your temper. Or your sensitivity. Or your...' Despite herself Ruth began laughing, and he got to his feet in mock outrage, trying to shush her. Somehow she ended up pressed against the fridge, Harry trying to dodge her flailing arms so he could clamp his hand over her mouth, when they simultaneously registered each other's proximity. He saw her pupils dilate til her irises were almost black; he saw the faint blush creep across her cheeks. He thought this was all the encouragement he needed.

Cradling her head in his hands he kissed her, softly, gently. As one hand dipped to her back and he pulled her towards him he felt her lips move against his, her hands on his chest; and nudging, teasing her lips apart he deepened the kiss. So focused was he on the taste of her, the feel of her, the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest, that it took him a moment to realise that the faint moans were not those of pleasure; that the hands pressing against him were not trying to map the contours of his torso; that the lips between his were not kissing, tasting, seeking. She was trying to tell him no. Taken aback, he relaxed his grip, and she forcibly pushed him off.

'No, Harry! I said no! What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

Drunk with lust he stared at her stupefied for a moment. 'But Ruth, I..I thought...'

'I know exactly what you thought, and you thought wrong! How many times do I have to tell you? How much more clearly can I put it? You and me is never going to happen!' She was shaking, breathless, her anger heightened by his perplexed dismay. 'Please, just get your things and go.'

Shoving him bodily out of her way she strode from the room. He heard the rapid tattoo of her feet on the stairs, and then silence.

* * *

The stir fry eaten, the dishes washed and cleared away, Kate and Sally were curled up on the sofa continuing their psychological profiling of Harry Pearce.

'Okay, hang on a minute. You think this guy is capable of infidelity and of lying through his teeth at the drop of a hat. Arguably, you're both on the rebound and it looks like he may still be bouncing. So what is it, exactly, apart from his prowess in the sack, that makes you think this Harry is such a keeper?'

Sally gazed miserably into her wine glass, as if the answers she needed could be willed up from the depths. 'Despite what I said, he's a gentleman. He's intelligent; he's funny; he's generous; he's considerate; he makes me feel good; he has integrity by the bucketload - don't scoff – and underneath that gruff, no-nonsense exterior, if you prick him he does bleed.' She sighed. 'And I love him. God knows I didn't plan for that to happen, but it did.'

Kate eyes were on the flames dancing in the fireplace. 'What do you want me to say, Sal?' she asked, quietly.

'What would you do?'

'It's not about what I would do.'

'Humour me.'

In the firelight Kate's expression was unreadable. 'When you get to our age you can't exactly be choosy. But we have also woven enough of life's rich tapestry to know what the design has to contain and what's just...offcuts. A good, kind man who makes me laugh and won't let me down is all I need. Solvency helps too. As for his heart belonging to someone else..I don't know. Although Dan had affairs practically from day one I knew it was me he loved.' She sipped at her wine. 'I think I would just have to go by my instincts.'

'And what are they telling you about Harry?'

'I think I'd give him a shot; see how things pan out.' She smiled wryly. 'But whether that's my head talking or my libido I'm not entirely sure.'

Sally chuckled, and Kate leaned forward to clasp her hand. 'But I'm not you, Sal. I went to the school of hard knocks and the university of life and I learned how to deal with the rogues and the rotters as well as the saints. No offence, but you're not long widowed after donkeys' years of wedded bliss with your childhood sweetheart. That makes you vulnerable, and I don't want to see you get hurt.'

'You think he'll hurt me?'

'I dunno, Sal. But you need to talk to him; find out where you stand. And you need to decide what you want. If he can't give you that, then...'

'I want him, Kate. Not just the package; the present and the future that being part of a couple offers. I want _him_.'

Kate pulled her friend into a hug. 'Then fight for him, sweetheart.'

* * *

Slouched in the chair, head resting against the wall behind him, Harry watched his clothes tumble and buffet, twining and untwining, til the spinning slowed to a stop and they fell apart and stilled at the bottom of the drum. No longer caring about modesty he stripped off then opened the dryer door, tugging on chinos and socks, fingers haphazardly buttoning up his shirt. His phone, keys, belt and wallet were on the kitchen table; his shoes he retrieved, still damp, from the hall. As his hand closed around the door knob he hesitated, and cast one last glance over his shoulder up the darkened stairwell.

'Goodbye, Ruth,' he whispered, and let himself out into the rain.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sorry for the delay – work isn't allowing headspace for anything else at the moment. Anyway, thank you as ever for the reviews, apologies for all the grief I'm causing, and here is what I hope will be the penultimate chapter.**

* * *

**The next day**

After a sleepless night he was dozing in front of SkySports when he heard the front door click open. Scarlet, comatose mere seconds ago, scrabbled to her feet and raced into the hall. As he heard Sally's voice soothing the dog he blearily shook away the last vestiges of sleep and swung his legs over the edge of the sofa.

'Where's your daddy, huh? Harry?'

'I'm here, I'm here.'

As he stood she appeared in the doorway, mummified in her winter coat, scarf and hat, green eyes sparkling above frost-pinked cheeks.

'Is everything alright? I wasn't expecting you back til next week.'

She took in the stubble, the trunks and tshirt, the half empty bottle of malt on the floor beside the sofa.

'Evidently.' She felt a little knot of worry tighten in her belly. 'I missed you. And we put the world to rights last night, so...'

His eyes scanned hers, unconvinced. 'Are you sure there's nothing wrong?' His thoughts drifted once more to her distracted coolness in the days before her departure, her brushing off of his vague expressions of concern.

'Fine, I promise.' She kissed him, her lips cold against his. 'The forecast's not looking too great up there for the next couple of days and I didn't want to get stranded.'

'Oh. Well, good to have you back.' He smiled at Scarlet, sitting hopefully at Sally's feet. 'And so say both of us.'

'Harry, she's not happy to see me, she just realises that right now I'm a better bet as far as w-a-l-k-i-e-s go.'

Scarlet barked her agreement, and he laughed. 'Okay, well, if you wouldn't mind giving her a quick turn round the p-a-r-k I'll get the kettle on.'

She eyed him. 'Never mind tea. A shower and a shave are what this doctor's ordering.' She paused, caressing his cheek with her fingertips. 'Then again, make that the shave now, and the shower when I get back.' She smiled mischievously, and bent down to ruffle Scarlet's head. 'Come on old girl, let's get going.'

* * *

'I'm sorry. I must just be tired, I...'

'It's okay, honestly.' She squeezed the sponge against his chest and watched the soapy rivulets trail down to his thighs. 'Why don't we finish up here and try again in bed? Maybe the thought of aquatic acrobatics is subconsciously putting you off.'

He hesitated, and felt her go still.

'Oh. Oh, okay, I get it. Well, let me just finish washing and I'll head off.'

'No, no, don't...it's just...look, it's nearly dinnertime. Let's cook something, have a nice bottle of red, watch some tv. I'm sure after a good night's sleep I'll be back firing on all cylinders.'

She looked at him dubiously. 'Harry, are you cross with me? I _was_ a bit presumptuous just turning up...'

He kissed the tip of her nose. 'I did give you a set of keys, didn't I? Now hurry up and scrub my back before the hot water runs out.'

* * *

Having chosen the film, a French offering on BBC4, Harry promptly fell asleep, so when the doorbell rang Sally eased his head off her lap and went to answer it. The light above the door revealed the wan features of Ruth Evershed, who betrayed neither surprise nor embarrassment at Sally's appearance on the threshold. Sally in turn had her wits sufficiently about her to forget her expensively acquired manners.

'Ruth! I'm sorry, this really isn't a good time.'

But Ruth merely thrust a small, white bundle at her. 'Harry left these at mine. I thought he might be a bit...chilly.' Without further ado, she turned and trotted down the steps, and before Sally could respond she was swallowed up by the darkness. Nonplussed, Sally closed the door and somewhat warily unfolded the bundle.

Trunks. Harry's trunks.

* * *

If his errant underwear being flung at his face didn't cause Harry to stir, Sally's roar of 'Harry!' most certainly did.

'Whaaa'? Urgh!'

Disorientated both by his rude awakening and the unidentified object lying on his face, Harry reared upright, one hand grabbing the trunks and flinging them across the room.

'Scarlet, no!' Sally snapped, and the dog reluctantly abandoned her pursuit.

'What the hell?' he asked, blearily.

Sally marched across the room and retrieved his trunks from the hi fi system over which they were now artistically draped.

'I think you have some explaining to do,' she snapped, holding them at arms' length, pinched between index finger and thumb.

Harry forced his eyes to focus. 'Why are you waving my pants about?' he muttered. 'And what were they doing on my face?'

'Never mind that. What the hell was Ruth Evershed doing with them? And don't you dare try to spin me some spooksy yarn, Harry Pearce.'

He put two and two together and came up with trouble. _'Oh fuck,'_ he thought.

Sally tossed the trunks onto his chest. 'I think you'd better start at the beginning, don't you?'

* * *

He told her about the previous evening, embellishing the bare bones of rain / lift / blown tyre / take away / change of clothes with details rather more mundane than the reality. Sally listened expressionless, which he assumed meant it all sounded plausible enough.

'Okay,' she said, as he finished, 'that being the case, it all being totally above board and amicable and all that, why did she practically throw your trunks at me and stomp off?'

'Bad day at the office? You'd need to ask her. Anyway, I'm going to put the kettle on. Want anything?'

'Whoa, not so fast. I said start at the beginning. You've just given me the latest page.'

Harry, bending down the side of the sofa to retrieve his mug, felt a flicker of apprehension. 'What d'you mean?'

As he straightened, Sally perched on the edge of the armchair, and wrapping her arms around herself she regarded him steadily.

'I mean you're not giving me the whole story about you and Ruth Evershed.'

'What whole story? You asked about last night...'

'And now I'm asking what the story is with you and Ruth Evershed.'

He placed the mug on the coffee table as he gathered his thoughts. 'Sally, what's going on? Where's this coming from?'

'Harry, you know full well that the only men I've ever slept with are you and Gavin. Now I'm not so naïve as to think that your sexual experience is limited to sleeping with your ex-wife twice, and I believe that a person's sexual history should be just that, and that it should be purely between them and the people involved. But...'

'But what?' he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

'But she's not staying in the past, is she? I know that the two of you had a long term...thing, and I don't have a problem with that. What I _do_ have a problem with is the fact that I'm pretty sure you still have feelings for her.'

'Christ on a bike,' muttered Harry. 'Okay.' He sat on the sofa adjacent to her. 'First things first. I promise you, I have never slept with Ruth, despite what you may have heard. Our relationship has only ever been that of colleagues. I think at one time she may have wanted more, but that was a long time ago, before she got to know me.' He gave a wry smile.

'And what about you? Did you want more? _Do_ you want more?'

He sighed. 'Ruth and I worked together for a number of years. We...what we do, _did_, is a million miles from the normal nine to five. You have to trust your colleagues with your life and that inevitably creates a bond between you. There's that, and there's...everything that we've been through these past few years. Everyone we've lost.' One after the other the images looped through his head. Colin. Danny. Fiona. Zaf. Ben. Jo. Adam. Ros. Lucas.

'Yes, I get that, Harry. But you've still not answered my question. I saw the look on your face when I told you she'd collapsed. I've heard you calling for her in your sleep. Am I wasting my time here? Are you in love with her?'

_Shit. _'Sal...' he leaned forward, one hand reaching for hers. 'Believe me, nothing is going to happen between me and Ruth. And how I feel about you and how I feel about her is...poles apart.'

Sally stood and went over to the sideboard. Harry watched as she poured herself a generous measure of Ardbeg.

'I don't know,' she said softly, gazing down into the tumbler.

He too was on his feet. 'Don't know _what_?' Taking the glass from her he placed it back on the sideboard and gripped her arms. 'Sally, look at me. You are the one good thing in my life right now and I don't want to lose you. Ruth is the best intelligence analyst I ever had and I have the utmost regard for her but she's part of my past, not my future.'

Sally eased out of his arms and threw back a mouthful of whisky.

'We've got a good thing going here. Haven't we?' He gave her his most winning smile, the one Jane had all too soon got wise to, but which still sent Sally weak at the knees.

'I thought so.'

'Well then.'

The green eyes held his gaze. 'I love you, Harry.'

He swallowed. 'I know you do.'

'Ha. The usual response...'

'Yes, yes, I know that. But talk's cheap. Let me show you how much you mean to me.'

'We've already tried and failed once today. I don't think my ego could take...'

'_Your _ego?' He chuckled. 'I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about going away for a few days, just the two of us. Next month, maybe, when the weather's a bit warmer.'

There was a perceptible softening of her features and her lips formed a contemplative pout. 'Paris.'

'I was thinking more along the lines of the Lakes, the Highlands, something...'

'Paris. Georges V.'

'Isn't that a bit of a cliché?'

'I don't care if it is.'

'Well, how about Croatia...I hear it's beautiful. Very romantic.'

'As romantic as Paris in springtime? I doubt it.' The look on her face forestalled any further argument.

'Okay,' he said. 'Okay. Paris it is.'

* * *

**And now I have a whole heap of reading and reviewing to catch up on. The final chapter should be up this week some time, pesky work permitting.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Okay, I took on board the comments about one chapter not being enough to tie things up (you masochists, lol!) and so decided to include a couple of scenes I'd planned to leave out. Not surprisingly, the first of them grew arms and legs. Maybe I should have omitted it or severely edited it, but as it stands this means that there will be another couple of chapters. As ever, many thanks and many apologies. My next fic will be flufftastic, I promise! But meantime, on we go.**

* * *

**March**

'Hello?'

'Hello Malcolm. It's Harry.'

'Harry! How lovely to hear from you! How are you?'

'Couldn't be better, couldn't be better. You?'

'Oh, just ticking along, you know. Tickety boo.'

'And your mum?'

'She's, well, she's mum. Good days and bad days. So, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?'

'I, er, was wondering if you're free on the 24th of June?'

'June? Ah, well, I think I can say with confidence that apart from the normal daily routine of whatever day that is, I most probably am.'

'Right. Well. I'd like you to come to my wedding.'

Stunned silence.

'….Malcolm?'

'I don't believe it. After all this time? I'd given up all hope of the two of you coming to your senses. Oh, Harry, of course I'll be there; I wouldn't miss it for the world! And I couldn't be happier for you both.'

'What? Oh.' Grimacing, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I'm marrying Sally, Malcolm. Sally Chapman. I told you about her last time we spoke.'

'Oh. Oh dear. Yes, of course you did. I'm sorry, I just assumed...I had no idea things were so serious. Crikey.'

'Yes, well, no point in hanging about, really. So, can you come?'

'Of course, of course. Um, look, Harry, mother's got a doctor's appointment in half an hour and I really need to go; I'm on chauffeur duty.'

'Right. Well, I'll be in touch about the arrangements.'

'Good, good. Oh, and congratulations. To you both.'

'Thanks. Goodbye Malcolm.'

'Goodbye.'

Malcolm replaced the handset in the cradle, his face grave.

'The bloody fool,' he whispered. 'The stupid, bloody fool.'

* * *

**Two weeks later**

Ruth was standing by the bar, chatting to a middle aged man who looked vaguely familiar, and a younger woman whom Malcolm didn't recognise. Half way across the room Malcolm stood and hovered, not wanting to barge in and hoping that Ruth would see him and beckon him over. However, she was listening intently to something...James Davies, that was it...was saying and was oblivious to his arrival. Casting his eye around the room for a familiar face he drew a blank, and instead retraced Harry's footsteps over to the Buxtons' table. They looked up at him with weary politeness, his face not registering, waiting for him to speak.

'Um. Malcolm Wynn-Jones. I worked with Sam at DEFRA.' He proffered his hand; both shook it. 'I'm ever so sorry for your loss. Sam was a veritable ray of sunshine in our office. Always cheering us up when we got down in the dumps about, er, rural affairs.' His lips twitched into a smile. 'And she never forgot a birthday, although sometimes us oldies wished she would.'

Sam's dad smiled. 'That sounds just like her.'

'We were all very fond of Sam. You should be proud. She was a lovely young woman.'

'_OTT, Malcolm_,' he thought, as he saw her mother's eyes fill with tears. 'Can I get you both a drink?'

Mr Buxton shook his head. 'We're fine. But thank you.'

* * *

Across the room Ruth was still deep in conversation, so Malcolm wound his way to the bar and ordered a tomato juice. Small talk with strangers not exactly being his forte, he remained there, sipping his drink and smiling vaguely at anyone who caught his eye. Outside, the thin light of early spring was beginning to leach out of the leaden sky, and he glanced at his watch, uneasy at his mother being left alone for so long.

'Boring you, are we?' came an amused voice from his left.

He turned, and to his delight his gaze alighted on Jed Kelley, Sam's predecessor as Section D's admin officer.

'Alright, Malcolm?'

'Jed, my dear fellow!' Beaming, Malcolm shook his hand. 'How are you?'

'As well as you can be at a mate's funeral, I guess.'

'Quite, quite. I didn't realise you even knew Sam.'

'Yeah, well, when she joined she got pretty much thrown in the deep end and I helped her out a few times. And as we non-spooks tend to stick together, we kept in touch. Emails, Christmas cards, the odd night out in a group, you know the kind of thing.'

'Mm,' said Malcolm, who wasn't entirely familiar with the concept.

'Even after she moved to GCHQ...but then we kind of lost touch in the last year or so. I never thought..' He sighed. 'Hindsight's a wonderful thing though, isn't it?'

'Indeed.'

'Anyway, best mingle. Good to see you. Say hi from me next time you see Harry. Don't think there's anyone else left from the old days, is there?'

Malcolm grimaced. 'No,' he said quietly. 'No, there's not.'

Jed clapped him on the arm and melded back into the throng.

* * *

His restraint, Ruth had to concede, was admirable. They were a good half hour into the journey back to London before Malcolm raised the vexed topic of Harry Pearce.

'He thinks you despise him, you know.'

Ruth, lost in Malcolm's CD of _Lacrimosa_, absently murmured 'Hmm?'

'Harry. He thinks you despise him.

Ruth looked at him, frowning. 'He said that?'

'Mm. Said you can hardly bear to breathe the same air as him.'

She ducked her head. 'It's complicated.'

Malcolm paused as he shifted up a gear, and moved out to overtake.

'I'm no expert on matters of the heart, but as I understand it, it needn't be. He loves you, you love him. Simples, as those mongeese would say.'

'Mongooses. And they're meerkats. But if it's was _simples_ we'd have got together eight years ago and right now we'd be up to our eyes in Disney Princesses and dinosaurs and DS Lites.'

'It's been eight years?'

'Mm.'

'Oh, Ruth.'

She turned to look out the window, hoping Malcolm would take the hint, but she could sense him glancing over at her, and after a couple of minutes he burst out, 'But why is it so complicated? I mean, I know he's engaged to Sally, but it's you he wants, Ruth, and well you know it.'

'That's as maybe. But we've been through too much, Malcolm. Harry is a constant reminder of everything and everyone I've ever lost, and because of how he feels about me people have died. Good, decent, ordinary people have died, and Nico has lost his childhood as well as his father.'

'That's rather unfair.'

A flash of anger. 'Unfair? How do you think it feels to have to walk away from the man you love and the life you hoped to have with him? And then having come to terms with that, having found something approaching happiness and peace of mind, to..'

'Okay, okay. But look at it from Harry's point of view. Whoa, whoa,' he held up his hand at Ruth's protests. 'Hear me out, please.'

He took a deep breath. 'Here we have a middle aged man, a product of a loving, but emotionally reserved upbringing, thrown from the stiff upper lip confines of English boarding school via the intellectual and social ivory tower of Oxford into the real men don't cry ethos of the army. In the intervening period he loses his mum, whom he's very close to.'

'Malcolm, I know all this.'

'He then makes a disastrous marriage, his best friend since childhood is brutally murdered, his brother, two closest friends and god-daughter are killed, and he becomes estranged from his kids.'

'What is this, some kind of...Shittiest Life contest? Are you trying to tell me that I've had it easy and I should count my blessings?'

'Not in the least. But to get to the point...' Malcolm eased the car onto the ramp for the M4.

'Please do.'

'..that's just the headings. There are plenty bullet points underneath. What Harry's been through, much of it through no fault of his own, would have given most people a breakdown. Him, it's just driven to drink.'

That at least got a smile.

'I'm being flippant, but in order to cope with all that, and be able to do his job, he had to shut down emotionally and put up the barricades. That's not to say there aren't chinks in his armour. That's not to say he doesn't _feel_. He's just not very good at dealing with it when he does.'

'He did once admit to not being terribly emotionally forthright.'

Malcolm snorted. 'That's one way of putting it. But when he...when he fell hook, line and sinker for you, or rather when he realised he had, he hadn't the first clue how to handle it. And it's just unfortunate that none of us quite realised the depth of feeling between the two of you until it was too late.'

'Too late for what? Meddling?'

'Ha! Maybe, although given what happened after I opened my big mouth about your date I may just have left it to the rest of the team.'

Ruth raised an eyebrow. 'Ros? As Cupid? I can't quite see it somehow.'

Malcolm glanced at her, and was relieved to see that she was smiling.

'Perhaps not. But you know what I'm trying to say.'

'Actually...no, I don't.'

'I'm asking you to give him a chance. A chance to show you who he really is. To let him love you as you deserve.'

Jolted by the similarity to Harry's words all those months ago on the Embankment, Ruth's head snapped towards him, and she scanned his face for any indication that he'd realised what he'd said; that Harry had told him about their conversation and had perhaps asked Malcolm to plead his case now. But the face in front of her, the eyes that briefly met hers, betrayed no hint of anything other than his disquiet at the predicament of two of his oldest friends.

'At least talk to him,' he persisted.

The image of Harry as he took Sally's call floated back into her consciousness and Ruth gave him a small, sad smile. 'The time for talking's long past.' She squeezed Malcolm's arm. 'And some things just aren't meant to be.'

* * *

**Although I know how it's going to pan out from here, I need to decide if the next chapter needs fleshing out a bit, over and above the second extra scene.** **Either way, it's likely to be well into next week before it's up, sorry.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you again for all the reviews, and sorry for the delay, folks; work's been very hectic and using up all my head space, so I'm really not sure about this chapter. One more to go, although it may work better split into two...**

**ETA: Sorry, this gets rather sweary.  
**

* * *

**April**

From: _Harry Pearce_  
To: _Dimitri Levendis; Tariq Masood_  
Subject: _Stag weekend_

Dear both

Hope this finds you well. Just to let you know, my stag 'do' is to be the test match at Trent Bridge against the West Indies, starting on 31 May.

As I know you're fans of the old leather and willow I hope you can make all five days – I'm sorting the tickets and accommodation, don't worry about that – but if Hal Weatherby cuts up rough about the two of you having the time off, tell him his old man is going to be there, and he won't be chuffed at the lack of company, especially as it'll mean he has to buy me drinks all weekend.

I gather Alec has moved on to pastures new, and it seems he left his mobile behind. If you are able to get in touch with him to pass on this invitation, I'd be grateful.

Malcolm has been muttering about hiring one of those infernal tanks that the cousins deem necessary for a five minute drive to the nearest fast food outlet, so I dare say he will be in touch with you in due course about the transport arrangements.

Best,

Harry

PS If either of you gets any ideas about shaving my eyebrows and tying me naked to a lamp post, or injecting me with the contents of the pharmaceuticals cupboard and bunging me on the train to Inverness, remember that my betrothed carries out your annual medicals.

* * *

**May**

11pm. Ruth was sure she'd read the same paragraph at least three times. Conceding defeat, she closed the book and dropped it onto the sofa beside her, all of a sudden wishing she could just curl up where she was and go to sleep, forgetting the ablutions, the pyjamas, the trudge up the stairs. As she contemplated the lure of laziness and slovenliness versus the prospect of a sore back and stiff neck in the morning, her mobile chirped. Reaching over to the coffee table she picked it up and glanced at the screen. Rather than a name, a number flashed on the screen. Spam, probably. Against her better judgement, she clicked on view.

_Hi toots. Will be in The Cricketers around 7 tomorrow night. Hope to see you there. A_

Ruth re-read the text, bridling at the familiarity and the presumption. Who the hell did Alec bloody White think he was? And what on earth could he want with her? Money, probably. Or a few nights on a sofa away from over-clingy girlfriends or their vengeful boyfriends. Not bothering to send a reply, she switched the phone off and tossed it back onto the coffee table.

Energised by her irritation she stomped upstairs and began to get ready for bed. As she brushed her teeth, she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. Pale complexion...hollow cheeks...dark circles under dulled eyes...hair that was weeks past needing cut... She sighed. Over the last few months life had become reduced to a never-ending conveyor belt where work and sleep had blurred at the edges, and she grudgingly admitted that a reason to go out of an evening wasn't entirely unappealing. Even if it meant having to spend the evening with Alec.

* * *

**The following night**

She'd spent half an hour deliberating what to wear. Everything was either too hot, too frumpy, or too formal. As she held the umpteenth blouse up against her chest and frowned into the mirror, she finally came to her senses.

'Oh, for crying out loud, Ruth! This is Alec we're talking about. He'll tap you for the drinks, spend half the evening trying to see down your front, the other half ogling other women, and then when he thinks he's got you tiddly enough he'll start angling for a bed for the night. For god's sake, woman, get a grip!' She lobbed the blouse onto the pile on the bed and turned back to her wardrobe, resolving to wear whatever was next on the rail. Her Monsoon Annabelle dress. She hesitated for a moment, but then accepting the fact that it was unlikely to get another airing anytime soon she slipped it on and twirled in front of the mirror. Perhaps a bit OTT for a casual evening in the pub, but what the hell. Pale blue strappy evening shoes, a loose updo, and a hint of makeup completed the look. Shoving her keys, mobile, purse and lipstick into a clutch bag, she ran downstairs and out into the balmy London evening.

As she entered the pub she was unsurprised to see Alec slouched on a bar stool chatting up the barmaid, a pint and chaser at his elbow. He wore grubby jeans, Converse lo tops and a faded blue polo shirt. His cheeks were ghosted with stubble, and his hair, flattened and dishevelled, had seemingly evaded both shampoo and comb. She paused, feeling overdressed and awkward, and contemplated leaving, only for him to glance up, spot her, and regale her with a cheery 'Yo, toots, over here!'

Cheeks burning, Ruth walked over, contemplating suitably cutting retorts, only for him to pull her into a bear hug and, as he released her, gaze at her in disarming delight.

'It is sooo good to see you, Ruthie! And may I say you are looking pretty damn fine this evening. Now, what can I get you?'

'My name's not..um...G and T, please.'

'Coming right up. Go grab a table; I'll bring the drinks over.'

* * *

An hour in, and Ruth realised she was actually rather enjoying herself. Alec proved to be entertaining company, with a dry, self deprecating sense of humour; but more than that he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, gently prompting her into elaborating beyond her natural reticence. But now she was staring at him in horror.

'That's why you left?'

'Mm. I've no idea what he knows. IF he knows. But I wasn't hanging around to find out.'

'And you're sure that was her in the photo?'

'Mm. Unless she has an identical twin.' He looked wistful. 'I don't think she did.'

'But surely if Hal knew you'd slept with his wife he would've knocked you through the wall as soon as he clapped eyes on you.'

Alec raised an eyebrow.

'Or fired you, at least.'

'Nah, he strikes me as the kind who prefers his revenge served cold.'

Ruth rolled her glass between her fingertips. 'I wouldn't have said so.'

Alec slid his chair back and stood. ' Well, we'll never know, shall we? Going for a slash, then can I get you another?'

'Too much information. But yes, thank you. Dry white wine.'

'You sure? After G and Ts you'll suffer for it in the morning.'

A lost day, thought Ruth. About time she had one of those. 'So be it.'

As she watched him head off to the Gents, it dawned on Ruth that she had still not found out why he'd wanted to meet in the first place. The lack of effort he'd made with his appearance clearly signalled that he hadn't regarded the evening as a date, and but for a brief digression into his cuckolding of Hal he hadn't talked about work, so what was it all about?

Thirty seconds later, she had a pretty good idea. A movement in the doorway made her look up , and her gaze alighted on a stunned Harry Pearce.

* * *

'Oh god,' she muttered, 'now it all makes sense. A bloody set up.' Downing the remains of her gin and tonic in one, she reached for her bag.

Harry remained in the doorway, hand clasped to his head.

'Ruth, don't leave on my account.'

'I'm not. I'm leaving on mine. 'Scuse me, please.'

Harry didn't budge. 'If you're thinking I set this up, I promise you I didn't. Look, sit down.'

'The days when you could order me about are long gone. Now are you going to get out of my way?'

Heads were swivelling towards them, but no-one said a word.

'I'm not ordering you about, I'm merely trying to set the record straight.'

'Then consider it straight.' Ruth went to barge past him, only for Harry to grab her arms and propel her, squawking in outrage, against the wall.

The barmaid had seen enough. 'Oi, we'll have none of that in 'ere. Go on, mate, sling yer 'ook.'

'Lovers' tiff,' Harry snapped, his eyes boring into Ruth's furious ones. 'I just need to explain if she'll let me.' He tilted his head, eyes widening in enquiry. _Well?_

Ruth glared at him. 'Let me go.'

He ignored her. 'I had no idea you were going to be here. Frankly, I wouldn't have come if I'd known.'

'Gee, thanks. And likewise.'

'That's not what I meant. All I ever seem to do is upset you, and...'

She flung her arms up, hoping to dislodge him, but his hands remained firmly clamped, and he couldn't prevent a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.

'I'm glad one of us is finding this funny.'

'Ruth, you've made your feelings very clear, and I think I've humiliated myself enough, don't you? This is all down to Alec..'

'Ahh, Harry! Thought my ears were burning...hey!'

Alec's smile of greeting rapidly evaporated as Harry, in one swift movement, turned, pinned Alec's arm behind his back, and shouting at Ruth to wait, began marching him back down the corridor.

'What the fuck d'you think you're doing? Get off, you mad bastard!'

But rage and momentum propelled them swiftly round the corner, and to Alec's bewilderment, Harry shoved him through the first door they came to.

'Harry, fuck's sake, this is the Ladies!'

Breathing heavily, Harry regarded him. 'And how many women did you see in the pub?'

Alec considered. 'Fair point. But look, what's this...'

Grabbing Alec's jaw, Harry shoved him against the wall and stood right up to him, his face mere inches from the younger man's.

'Don't you bloody dare meddle in my life, Alec. I'm getting married next month and I don't need the likes of you trying to fuck that up. Do you hear me?'

'Harry, Jesus, I...'

'Do. You. HEAR ME?'

'Yes! Yes! For Christ's sake, Harry, what's got into you? I just invited the pair of you out for a drink. No biggie!'

Harry let him go and walked away a few steps. 'No biggie? No ulterior motive?' His voice was dangerously quiet.

Alec massaged his jawline. 'Well, okay, I was hoping to get the two of you to talk a bit, hopefully come to your senses. How you feel about Ruth has been bloody obvious from day one, and for all she puts on a big show about hating your guts, even I can tell she feels the same. Well, okay, Beth told me, but...' he shrugged.

Harry rested his head against the hand towel dispenser. 'You couldn't be more wrong.'

'Oh, aye? And I can't help feeling responsible because I was the one who introduced Sally into the equation. I never thought it would come to this, I just wanted her to sort out your head, get you back on an even keel, not...Don't get me wrong,' he added hastily as Harry's head reared up, 'she's a lovely woman, but she's not the woman you're in love with.'

The pain in Harry's eyes as he looked up at Alec would have made a less hardened heart flinch.

'You haven't a clue what you're talking about,' said Harry, quietly, and striding across the room he flung open the door and returned to the bar.

She was gone.

Hoping against hope, Harry ran outside. No Ruth. He scanned the street, then, knees protesting, jogged in the direction of the local tube station. And then he saw her. About two hundred yards ahead, she was boarding a bus. He broke into a run. 'Ruth!' he yelled. 'Ruth!' She didn't look back, and he could only watch as the bus pulled away and drove off into the twilight.

On the top deck Ruth sat, her head resting against the window, her thoughts only of Harry; of the look on his face as he saw her; and of memories of another bus journey on another summer's evening, a lifetime ago. As the bus jolted her homewards, the silent tears began to fall.


	23. Chapter 23

**I'm really touched that so many of you have taken the trouble to read and review. Thank you; it means a lot.**

* * *

**24 June **

The overnight shift looked up in surprise as the pod hissed and Ruth walked onto the Grid. A few tentative smiles were offered but none returned as she strode to her desk, her face set.

Booting up her computer she reached for the file of overnight reports. With a little over a month to go before the Olympics, Five were on high alert and GCHQ erring on the side of caution. So far, the news blackout on the CO19 raids on suspected terror cells was holding; overseas, too, Six were taking no chances and for months had been quietly mopping up anyone appearing on their radar. By 9am Ruth had the reports summarised, the threats ranked and all the paperwork collated in folders on Hal's desk.

Distracted by the changeover with the day shift, she took refuge in the kitchen, losing herself in the ritual of making tea, carefully scooping loose chamomile flowers into her infuser, then pouring fresh water into the kettle and switching it on to boil. Her mind in neutral as the water began to bubble, it took her a moment to register the voice in the background.

'Hm?' She turned.

Diana Jewell stood in the doorway. 'Ruth, I thought it was you! What on earth are you doing in here today? I thought you had a wedding to go to?'

'No. I, um, too busy. Olympics, Festival, and all the usual...' her hands flapped.

Jewell frowned. 'Yes, I'm sure. But I...' She took in the look on Ruth's face, remembered snippets of past remarks overheard and the tales of the Cotterdam fallout. 'Oh. Me and my big mouth. Ruth, I'm sorry.'

Willing the kettle to boil, Ruth's lips flickered into something approaching a smile. 'Nothing to apologise for. Busy, that's all. You obviously are too. Don't often see you here, let alone on a Sunday.'

'Catching up on paperwork. It's been a difficult few months. The fallout from Bin Laden, the impact of the budget cuts, all the Olympic hoopla...' she reached for Ruth's arm, letting her hand fall away as she felt her stiffen. 'Look, why don't you make that cup of tea and then let's go and have a wee chat.'

'Thanks, but...' as the button clicked off Ruth grabbed the kettle and filled her mug, '...really, I should be getting on.'

'Ten minutes won't hurt. And I'm sure I have a supply of chocolate biscuits somewhere.'

Ruth shook her head. 'Thanks, but I'm fine.'

Jewell's head tilted, her eyes scanning Ruth's face. 'Actually, I rather doubt that. Come on.'

Only too well aware that if she started talking she would never stop, Ruth picked up her mug and forced her gaze upwards to meet Diana's. 'Another time, maybe.'

Reluctantly, Diana moved aside to let her past. 'Okay. Any time. You know that.'

* * *

'Urgh!' Harry tugged a pillow over his eyes as the early morning sunlight flooded the room. 'Malcolm, will you shut those sodding curtains!'

'It's me, Uncle Harry. And no; it's time you got up.'

Harry rolled onto his front, further twisting the duvet around his legs. 'Time is it?'

'Gone nine.'

'Well,' he muttered, 'if you'd like me to get up, you'd better leave before I scar you for life, because underneath this duvet I'm as naked as the day I was born.'

'Right, right.'

Harry heard the floorboards creak as Wes retreated, then the click of the door closing. With a grin, he punched his pillow back into shape, squidged it under his head, and within seconds he was snoring softly.

The second time, it was the sudden gust of cool air that woke him. Hungover and disorientated, it took him a moment to realise that his duvet was gone, and he opened his eyes to see Malcolm at the foot of the bed, clutching the duvet aloft and trying to look anywhere but at the supine figure before him.

'Sorry, Harry. I assumed you were a pyjamas man.' Gathering up the duvet he tossed it haphazardly back onto the bed.

'Trunks, usually,' Harry conceded, 'but last night the old hand/eye co-ordination was letting me down rather.'

Malcolm sniffed. 'I'm not surprised. Honestly, Harry, what kind of example is this to set for young Wes?'

Gingerly Harry sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. 'Malcolm, he was in bed by ten. I'd barely got started by then.' Levering himself to his feet, he trudged towards the ensuite. 'Get the kettle on and the bacon in the pan, there's a good chap.'

Malcolm, already suited, booted and fed, headed back downstairs, muttering under his breath, and found Wes buttering another slice of toast.

'You're a bottomless pit, young man. Where on earth do you put it all?'

Wes shrugged. 'Is he up, then?'

'Mm, yes. Rather the worse for wear, I'm sorry to say.'

'Bit daft, isn't it?'

'What?'

'Getting pi..drunk when you've got all that hanging about and smiling to do the next day.'

Malcolm grunted, and drizzling olive oil into the frying pan he tilted it to and fro, coating the base.

'You don't think he was...drowning his sorrows or anything, do you?'

Startled, Malcolm's head shot up. 'What?'

'It's just that...well, I thought he'd end up with Ruth. And Dad said that they were made for each other.'

'Oh?' Malcolm put the pan carefully onto the hob and ignited the gas.

'Yeah. He said Ruth was the only person allowed to take liberties and that Uncle Harry thought the sun rose and set on her.'

Malcolm swallowed. Memories of Harry giving him the hairdryer treatment at the stag weekend were still raw. He'd taken his chances on the Friday night when Harry was mellow thanks to copious quantities of beer and sunshine and a demolition of the West Indies' middle order.

_'Harry, look, are you really sure about this wedding?' had been his ill-advised and not terribly subtle opening salvo._

_Harry's eyes narrowed. 'Malcolm...'  
_

_'What about Ruth? That's all.'_

_'What about Ruth? I told you before, she's made her feelings very clear.'_

_'No, you need to talk to her. Whatever she's told you... that woman loves the bones of you.'_

_He snorted. 'Really. Well, I asked her to marry me. I laid my soul bare. She didn't want to know.'_

_'You asked her to marry you?'_

_'Yes, Malcolm.' _

_'Right, right. And she turned you down?'_

_Harry sighed. 'Evidently.'_

_'On what grounds, if you don't mind my asking?'_

_'I, er, I asked her at a funeral. At Ros's funeral.' He was aware that he was blushing, and Malcolm was staring at him, aghast._

_'Oh, for Christ's sake, Harry.'_

_'So, my timing stinks. But apparently I am also a constant reminder of everything that's ever gone wrong in her life, most of which I am coincidentally also to blame for.'_

_'I'm sure that's not..'_

_'I do love Sally, Malcolm. And I know that she loves me; loves me as I am. I'm not a grievous disappointment to her. I'm not constantly weighing up the wisdom of my every word and deed. I'm not constantly apologising for the decisions I've made and wondering what I need to do to make amends. If she's angry with me, she bloody tells me, and she doesn't fucking bolt every time I...' his voice trailed off. 'Who was it sang about not getting what you want?'_

_'Um, the Rolling Stones, I believe.'_

_'Okay, well, on the basis that I'm not getting the woman I want, I am getting the woman I need.' _

_Standing, he'd thumped his tumbler down onto the table, bidden his old friend a brusque goodnight, and marched off, leaving a despairing Malcolm, the unlikely last of the revellers, alone in the bar._

* * *

**1pm**

With her headphones on, engrossed, against the odds, in the transcripts, it took Ruth a moment to realise that her mobile was ringing. Tearing off the headphones she lunged across her desk, sending a blizzard of files spiralling from her desk.

'Hello,' she breathed.

'Hey, Evershed. It's me. Look, why don't you jump in a cab, there's still time for you to get here; Harry said Sally's bound to be at least half an hour late.'

'Dimitri,' she said, quietly.

'Come on. They don't do nuclear armageddon on a Sunday, so..' his voice faded out as she heard Beth remonstrating with him. 'Okay, okay...Sorry about that, Bailey's being bolshy. Anyway, Harry's looking very pukka in his morning suit, although I'm not sure about the tie... Ruth? Ruth? You still there?'

Back on the Grid, Ruth had switched off her phone and carefully replaced it on her desk. Kneeling, she retrieved the scattered papers and bundled them into her in tray. Then, her face impassive, she picked up the headphones and put them back on, adjusting the headband a little to fit.

But she didn't rewind the recording to where she'd left off. And the words that followed jangled round her head, unheard.

* * *

**Ten weeks later**

'Ruth?'

She glanced up. The lanky frame of Hal Weatherby hovered at the edge of her desk.

'Can I help you?'

'Yes, make your appointment with Sally Pearce. I've just come off the phone to her. Apparently you've postponed your annual medical.'

'Well, yes, I...'

'Three times.'

'You know how it's been...'

'I do indeed; all the more reason to check it's not adversely affecting your health. She's expecting you in twenty minutes; I don't want to hear you haven't showed up. Clear?'

* * *

'Okay, you can put your blouse back on, then come and have a seat.'

'Sounds ominous.'

Sally laughed. 'No, no. Your blood pressure's a little raised, and I'm rather concerned that you've lost so much weight, but otherwise, assuming the tests come back clear, I'm confident you're in good fettle. Plenty sleep, a regular, nutritious diet and hopefully we won't see any repeats of your funny turn.'

'Right,' said Ruth. _What planet are you on?_ _Don't you know anything about the nature of the job we do? _Buttoning up her blouse she sat down, idly wondering why Sally was rummaging on the floor behind her desk.

'I just thought...' came a disembodied voice, 'that since you didn't manage to make it to the wedding you might like to see the photos.'

'What?' Stunned, Ruth's head shot up and the fingers working on her buttons stilled. Somehow, she managed to arrange her face into something approaching pleasurable anticipation just as Sally straightened, clutching a large leather album.

Nudging her chair round the desk, Sally plonked herself down beside Ruth and handed her the album. As she opened it, Sally began a lively running commentary, peppered with 'Harry this' and 'Harry that'. Dazed, Ruth made what she hoped were appropriate noises as Sally turned the pages. 'Doesn't Beth look gorgeous?' she managed at one point, mentally kicking herself as soon as the words left her lips, for her opinion of the bride had remained unspoken. Sally, however, agreed, and appeared unfazed.

She was in the middle of telling Ruth about Alec and the woman he'd turned up with ('Don't you think she looks like something from the Folies Bergère? Harry didn't know _where_ to look') when her phone rang. Reaching across the desk she picked up.

'Sally Pearce. Uh huh. Is it? Okay, give me two minutes.' Replacing the phone in the cradle, she turned to Ruth. 'Sorry. Admin calls. Won't be two ticks.'

Ruth, not wishing to prolong their encounter, rose to her feet and began to give her excuses, but the door had already closed. Sinking back down into her chair she turned to the next page in the album. A head and shoulders portrait of Harry. He stood, head bowed, lost in his thoughts and evidently oblivious to the camera. With unsteady fingertips, Ruth traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

'Ah, absent friends,' came Sally's voice from behind her. Startled, Ruth snatched her hand back.

'What?'

Sally walked over to the window and leaned back against the sill, folding her arms. 'Well, ghosts. Malcolm mentioned a few of them in his speech; that's probably what set Harry off. Anyway, he didn't want that photo in the album; he said it was a bit off, the groom being immortalised as maudlin on his wedding day. But I love it. It's so...so _him_, somehow. I think Fabian has quite a talent.'

'Ghosts,' Ruth repeated. 'Yes, I'm sure in many respects Harry found it a bittersweet day.' Closing the album she laid it on the desk and got to her feet. 'A lovely memento. Anyway, I'd best get back to the Grid. Life carries on. Work carries on.'

The door clicked quietly shut behind her.

* * *

***Dons tin hat* I am sorry, truly, but it had to be done. Would that life always worked out as it should.**

**An epilogue will follow in early course, if I'm not banished from FF in the meantime. ;)**


	24. Epilogue  part 1

***sticks head above parapet* Well, that didn't go down quite as badly as I'd feared! With some minor spoilers for S10, here's the epilogue. Because I've rambled on a bit as per I've split it into two chapters. The second one will be posted later today or tomorrow; the last para is eluding me at the moment! Anyway, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Eighteen months later**

His knee was beginning to give him severe gyp. He shifted his balance slightly and his back twinged in protest. _Bloody falling apart, _he thought. Looping the handle of the carrier bag over one wrist he nudged his tray further along the service counter, inch by inch getting nearer the caffeine he craved.

'Cappuccino, please,' he said, as the enquiring face of the server finally appeared in front of him. 'Oh, and I'll take a slice of that chocolate cake as well.' As she placed the plate on the counter and the disapproving refrain of 'Oh, _Harry_' failed to materialise, he grinned; once again a small boy who'd just got one over on his arch enemy. His grin faded as he paid and turned to face the seating area. Late afternoon and yet all the tables were taken. He scanned the room, looking for a hint that someone might be about to depart, and then at the far corner he saw a woman sitting on her own, head bowed; over a book, he assumed. All the better; she would neither offer nor expect any small talk, and he could drink his coffee, eat his cake, and take the weight off his knee in peace.

Clutching his tray, he edged his way round the tables towards her.

'Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?'

A fraction too late, he saw the baby nestled against her breast. Cheeks flaming, he took a step back, coffee slopping into his saucer. 'Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't realise; I...'

The remainder of his sentence remained unspoken as the woman looked up, and he found himself gazing into the astonished eyes of Ruth Evershed.

* * *

She recovered her equilibrium first, her face breaking into a disbelieving smile. 'Harry! Oh my god! What on earth are you doing here?'

'Much the same as you, I'd imagine. I mean...no...not...' His eyes fell to the baby, and blushing anew his head shot up. 'Um, buying books.'

Amused at his obvious discomfiture, she waggled her hand at him. 'Oh, sit down, while you still have some coffee left.' Shucking the carrier bag onto the floor, he lowered himself onto the chair opposite and took his coffee and cake from the tray and laid them on the table. The tray, puddled with coffee, he slid onto the floor under his chair.

'So,' he managed. 'Well. It's lovely to see you, but I, uh..' He exhaled. 'I never expected...I...'

Ruth tilted her head. 'Never expected what? Me to move on with my life? Find someone else? Be happy?'

He winced. 'Maybe not quite so spectacularly, quite so soon.'

Even he could tell her hair was expensively cut; shoulder length and glossy, it had more of a wave than he remembered. Her face, devoid of makeup, had a glow that didn't come from long hours spent under the artificial lights of the Grid, and as she gazed down on her son he was sure that his heart had stopped.

'Motherhood suits you,' he said quietly.

She smiled. 'Yes. Yes, it does.' She trailed a fingertip gently down her son's cheek.

'What's his name?'

The suckling was now perfunctory, the baby replete and sleepy. 'Jamie,' she said proudly. 'He's seven weeks.'

'Do I, um, know his dad?'

Ruth didn't respond, and he realised that Jamie had disengaged and she was rearranging her clothing. Swiftly he diverted his attention to his cake, looking up only when his peripheral vision registered Jamie propped up against his mother's shoulder.

'Harry, most people ask if he's sleeping okay, if he's eating okay, if I'm okay...'

'But they presumably know who his father is. Or don't care. And I'm not most people.'

Her palm traced circles on the baby's back. 'No, that's for sure.'

For the first time, he noticed the thin platinum band on her left hand. 'He married you, at least. That is, I assume he's the f..'

'Harry!'

He pursed his lips, unwilling to apologise. Ruth knew the mutinous look all too well. She sighed.

'Um, yes and no. Your knowing Jamie's dad, I mean.'

Harry frowned. 'Sorry?'

'His dad...my husband, is John Fortescue.'

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then the penny dropped.

'The guy you _stalked_? Jesus Christ, Ruth!'

'I didn't stalk him! I...'

One by one Harry ticked them off on his fingers. '...listened to tape recordings of his conversations, dug up every nugget of information you could find on him, followed him to restaurants and requiems, pretended to be someone else with a bogus brother so that you could chat him up...! Oh, how did that go, by the way, when he found out your name wasn't...what was it, Susan...?'

'Hepburn,' Ruth snapped, 'Susan Hepburn. And not too badly, obviously, or I wouldn't be sitting here wearing his ring and burping his baby.'

Harry snorted. 'So how did you get together? I thought your hot 'date' fizzled out with no..'

Ruth's glare silenced him, and he sought refuge in his cappuccino.

'I bumped into him about six, uh, the December before last, at Tate Modern. We got talking, went for a drink, and, well, things moved on from there.'

'Obviously.' Wearily Harry acknowledged the brief jolt of jealousy.

'But talking of moving on, what are you doing in London? I thought you'd moved to France.'

'Yes, the Loire Valley.' A bashful smile crept across his features. 'But I'm here to visit my granddaughter.'

Ruth squealed. 'Catherine? Oh, Harry...'

But Harry was shaking his head. 'Graham,' he admitted.

'Graham? So is he...is everything...are you...'

He chuckled. 'Yes, he is and yes it is and yes we are. Sarah wasn't planned but the prospect of fatherhood seems to have given Graham a considerable boot up the backside, and he's now clean and sober and gainfully if not lucratively employed.'

Ruth's hand closed briefly over his. 'That's wonderful, Harry, I'm so pleased.'

Harry sipped at his coffee. 'Mmm, and even more amazing than that, I think he has the makings of being a good dad. He changes her nappies quite the thing, which is more than I ever did.' He gave a rueful smile.

'Well, you can always make up for lost time with Sarah,' Ruth teased.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I think bedtime stories and ambles round the block with the buggy are my limit. Can you really see me faffing about with Pampers and baby wipes and babygro poppers?'

'Yes,' she said simply, holding his gaze. He realised with a pang that this was not the first time she'd given the matter some thought.

'Well, so much for the macho persona I've so carefully cultivated,' he joked, with a levity he didn't quite feel.

'Macho? You're just a bigger, hairless, human version of Scarlet.'

Now he laughed. 'What?'

'Dogged, contrary, devious, too smart for your own good...'

'Hoi, that's my poor old dog you're slandering...'

'But cute with it. And now that I've made amends, would you mind taking Jamie while I a/nip to the loo, and b/get a pot of tea? I only managed about three mouthfuls of the last one.'

'Er, course not.' He went round beside her, and standing, she eased Jamie into his arms. Still not quite asleep, the baby looked up at Harry in puzzlement, and his face contorted, lips working furiously, as if he was deciding whether or not to cry.

'Okay?'

'Mmm. He's got your dimples. Not sure about your eyes though.'

'Too early to tell, but he'll probably have his dad's.' Gently, Ruth stroked the the soft blonde down on the baby's head. 'Won't be a tick.'

Harry watched her retreating figure as she crossed the cafe to the Ladies. As she pushed the door open and disappeared within he glanced down at Jamie. He was fast asleep.

* * *

In the cubicle, Ruth lowered the lid and sat down, wrapping her arms around the soft contours of her post-baby frame. She'd thought she was doing so well. She had been genuinely pleased to see Harry, especially as he was looking so well. Leaner, with a healthier colour in his cheeks and the old warmth in his eyes, the air of world-weariness, of despair, had gone. Marriage obviously agreed with him. And yet, and yet, he didn't look at her with the simple pleasure of someone just pleased to see an old friend. While his shock at her new life was understandable, she'd seen his reaction as she talked about John; she'd seen his face soften when she smiled at him, seen his pupils dilate at her touch.

She closed her eyes, only for her mind to fill with the image of him as he held Jamie, his head bent over her little blonde boy. Leaning back against the cistern, she drew a deep, shuddering breath.

* * *

'Well, Jamie,' he whispered, 'these aren't exactly the circumstances in which I'd imagined holding your mother's firstborn in my arms, but it's nice to meet you anyway. I'm Harry. Once upon a time I worked with your mum.'

Tempted though he was to recount the tale of the day she burst into his life, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour. Picking up his fork, he began to chase a piece of cake round his plate, then he paused and looked down at Jamie, a wry smile creasing his lips.

'Ha, isn't that how all the best stories begin; once upon a time?'

* * *

She turned the cold tap full on, and let the water pool in her hands before flicking it up into her face. Twice. Three times. She glanced up at the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes looked back at her. Make up? Bad idea. He'd notice. He'd hope. All she needed to do was blame tiredness. Sleepless nights. A rogue eyelash. Bit of grit. Anything. Snatching towels out of the dispenser she patted her face dry then headed back out into the cafe, and a restorative pot of tea.


	25. Chapter 25

**This carries straight on from the previous chapter, and finally we're at the end. I just hope you all feel I've done the story justice!  
**

* * *

As she laid the tray on the table she reached for her son.

Harry shook his head. 'He's fine,' he said quietly. 'Out for the count. Drink your tea.'

She'd been crying. He wasn't arrogant enough to assume he was the cause; he remembered Jane in the weeks after Catherine's birth; hormonal, exhausted and overwhelmed, the most trivial thing had sent her into floods of tears. Unsure how she'd react if he expressed concern, he mentally scrolled through possible safe topics of conversation. 'So, what news of the Grid?'

'Oh.' She grimaced. 'It's not great. John doesn't want me to go back, and to be honest, I'm beginning to think he's right. Apart from anything else, Section D is hardly the ideal place for a woman with a baby, is it?'

'It's not ideal for anyone with children, really.'

'Hm, no. Anyway, Alec's gone, Beth's gone...'

'Beth's gone?'

'Mm. Decommissioned. She screwed up on an op, and there are no second chances with our new section chief. Not for Beth, anyway; Erin made it pretty clear from the start that she neither liked nor rated her, and frankly I think she was just waiting for her to slip up.'

Harry pursed his lips. 'What's Erin like? Apart from unforgiving.'

Ruth sipped her tea as she considered. 'Ambitious. Overly so. Intelligent, but more streetwise than...bookish. Not someone you'd want to cross. And then there's Calum.'

'Blimey, Hal has been a new broom.'

'He's, well, a techie, mainly, but he's been getting involved in field ops too. Thinks he's the bee's knees and unfortunately he does seem to be. He's the only person I've ever seen get Tariq rattled.'

Harry smiled. 'Ah well, a bit of competition will do the lad good. What happened to Alec, by the way? He was rather coy on the subject when I asked him.'

'Oh, Hal has a photo of his wife and kids on his desk, and Alec, um, recognised his wife.'

Harry groaned. 'Oh, dear god. Does Hal know?'

'Alec didn't exactly hang around to find out, but Hal hasn't asked us to hunt him down and post his head on the city gates so I'm guessing not.'

'Poor bugger.'

They lapsed into silence, Ruth drinking her tea, Harry with so much to say he didn't know where to start. He contented himself with watching Jamie; watching his eyelids flicker and his tiny hands furl and unfurl as he dreamed unknowable dreams.

'How's France?' she ventured, at length.

Harry made a face.

She laughed. 'Yeah, the wine, the sunshine, the idyllic scenery; it must be hellish.'

'It's France, Ruth. It's full of...French people.'

'Yeah, and they let you stay? Incredible.'

He chuckled. 'I do have my uses. Whenever we lose at rugby or football or there's some government scandal, the locals come beating a path to my door.'

Cupping her hands round her mug she sat back in her seat and eyed him speculatively. 'You do seem...happier though.'

He exhaled. 'Well, life is better than it's been for a long time.'

'I'm glad.'

'Are you?'

'Glad? Of course...'

'No, no; are you happy?'

She looked at Jamie, who lay, fists curled under his chin, head lolling into Harry's chest.

'Yes. Very.' She smiled.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

'Oh heck,' Ruth's eyes had alighted on the clock on the far wall. 'Harry, I've got to go. Bathtime and bedtime and whatnot. We're trying to get into a routine.'

Nonplussed, he watched as she fiddled with a band of fabric around her chest and then, taking Jamie from him, eased him into the wrap. The baby mewled in protest, headbutting her chest, before sinking back down into sleep.

Ruth grimaced. 'It's unfortunate he's so sound. He'll probably wake up on the bus needing his nappy changing.'

'The bus? For god's sake, Ruth, let me get you a taxi...'

She regarded him levelly. 'I like the bus.'

'Yes, I know, but with a newborn...and a taxi's much quicker. No hanging around at bus stops with all the traffic fumes and germs and...'

'Weirdos?' Her smile, like his, was wistful. 'Harry, we're fine.' One hand clasped across the baby's back, she bent to retrieve her shopping bags.

'Let me take them, at least. Please.'

'I'm fine,' she repeated, her tone more brusque than she'd intended. He flinched, but said nothing.

They wound their way across the cafe, and Ruth pressed the button for the lift. As they waited, Harry, dismayed at the imminent end of their afternoon, blurted out, 'I-I'm here til Wednesday. D'you think we could...'

'Harry...you've got a granddaughter to see. A son you're trying to rebuild a relationship with. I think you've got enough on your plate.'

'A couple of hours won't hurt. Lunch... Graham's working during the day, anyway.'

The display announced the lift's arrival, and as the doors slid open they both stepped inside.

_Lift going down._

Ruth waited til the doors closed and they began their descent.

'John's a good man, Harry. And I love him and I don't want to hurt him.'

'For god's sake, Ruth, I'm offering a ploughman's and a pot of tea, not an afternoon of rampant sex in the nearest Travelodge.'

'Don't.'

She was aware of his breathing; fast and shallow. She risked a glance up at him. His lips were drawn into a thin line, his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor display above the doors. The lift juddered to a halt on the ground floor, and she strode towards the front door, Harry following a few steps behind her. Outside, the wind was blustery, icy; an unwelcome reminder of the winter not long past. Rummaging in her coat pocket, she retrieved a stripy woollen hat which she manoeuvred onto Jamie's head.

Harry shouldered the door open and emerged onto the pavement.

She took a deep breath. 'We've both moved on, Harry. Whatever we had, whatever we felt for each other, we just weren't meant to be.'

'Ruth...' His voice was weary. She looked up. The misery in his eyes made her catch her breath, and then a jolt of anger coursed through her.

'Harry, you're not being fair.'

'What's fairness got to do with anything?' Distractedly he rubbed at his forehead. 'I thought I was doing well with the severing all contact bit, but it turns out I wasn't; I was just getting better at coping with missing you.'

'Oh, god. Harry, look at me.'

Dropping her bags at their feet, Ruth's hands cupped his face, and reluctantly he dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

'Please. Forget me, Harry. Go back to France, go back to Sally, and forget me. Sometime soon you'll wake up and realise you haven't thought about me for a few days, and before you know it I'll just be the dizzy woman you used to work with who threw files all over the place, demolished desk lamps, and gave you a hard time for everything you ever did.'

He managed a wobbly smile. 'Never.'

Standing on tiptoes, she brushed her lips against his, tasting coffee, chocolate, and then the salt of sudden tears.

'Now who's not being fair?' he grumbled, breaking the kiss. He sighed. 'For all sad words of tongue or pen, eh? That Fortescue's a lucky bugger. I should've offed him while I had the chance.'

'Not funny, Harry,' she scolded, trying not to smile.

'I know. Sorry.' The hand that reached out to gently thumb away her tears was not entirely steady. 'Ruth, I once said goodbye to you thinking it had to be forever; how can you expect me to say it again when it doesn't have to be that way?'

'But it does. Don't you see that?'

'No, Ruth, I really don't.' He sagged against the shop window. 'At least up til now I knew that if I really wanted to, I could get in touch. And birthdays, Christmases, I thought I might hear from you...I never stopped hoping, Ruth.'

'Let me go, Harry.'

His head dropped.

'Be happy,' she whispered.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, she was gone.

* * *

**A huge big thank you to all of you who have read, reviewed and favourited this fic, particularly those for whom it was far from easy reading. Some of you wondered if Jamie might be Harry's; I loved the idea, but I didn't like to think he'd be capable of cheating on Sally too, even if it was with Ruth. Plus, having promised this was the last chapter, how could I end on a bombshell like that? ;)**


End file.
